


Shine Your Light on Me

by acaelousqueadcentrum



Category: Rookie Blue
Genre: F/F, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 57
Words: 39,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1836304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaelousqueadcentrum/pseuds/acaelousqueadcentrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Rookie Blue prompts and head-canons from Tumblr. Primarily Gail x Holly. Unrelated unless otherwise noted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : Officer Lunchbox + Lightbulb

Gail had been grumpy ever since you told her you’d be going out of town for a few days next week. There was a conference in Chicago that you hadn’t planned on attending, but when a med school friend called and asked you to step in so he could go to his mother-in-law’s funeral, you couldn’t say no.

But Gail had groaned about it, asking if there wasn’t anyone else who could give Eddie’s presentation instead. You’d explained to her that you were the most qualified, especially since you’d helped him with some data and the editing of his results into a publishable article. It was kind of your baby too, and no one else had enough background knowledge on the whole thing to be able to respond with any sort of authority during the Q&A session afterward. Honestly, you can’t remember why you said no to the presentation originally. 

Gail had dropped the topic for the most part after that. Oh, she’d huffed and she’d puffed, but for the past two days she’d been pretty quiet. Grumpy, but quiet. 

You can see her now out of the corner of your eye, leaning up against the passenger side of the car, face tilted up toward the cloudy sky, arms folded against her chest. She’s a crank. An adorable crank. Your crank. But a crank nonetheless.

You’ve got to get going, get your boarding pass and get to your gate, but you can’t leave without one last taste of her. Her eyes are closed as you press your body against hers, pushing her fully against the door of the car. You start with little teasing nips along the side of her jaw before you settle your mouth over hers and let your tongue trace the outline of her lips, dip into the hot, wet hollow of her mouth. You feel the stubborn hard line of her lips curve into a smile as she meets the hard thrust of your tongue with her own. 

The two of you lose yourselves in each other for a few minutes before someone’s annoyed honking further up the drop-off lane pulls you back into the moment and you reluctantly pull apart. 

"Damn," you whisper into her neck, "I am going to miss that over the next couple of days."

Gail’s smiling now, and you hope that whatever funk she got herself into over the past few days has passed now. You’ll be home soon enough, after all. 

Actually, you realize, she’s smirking. 

"Oh, I know you will, Lunchbox," she says, her eyes twinkling. "And while you’re in sad, stupid old Chicago, hanging out with all your nerd friends, I’ll be here, awesome as ever. Just little old me, a bottle of champagne, some new underwear that was way too expensive for how little fabric is actually there to cover up all my best bits…"

Gail trails off, clearly waiting for you to catch up at whatever game she’s playing. You wrack your brain trying to think if you two had something planned for this week, something to celebrate. Because what she’s describing sounds like your new favorite way to celebrate.

It doesn’t take long before your eyes go wide.

"Ahhhh," Gail says, drawing out the word, "I see the light-bulb has finally gone on. Yes, Holly. While you’re in Chicago doing whatever it is a google of nerds does when they’ve been let loose unsupervised in a big city, I’ll be here, in your bed, celebrating your birthday. Alone."

"Oh, fuck me," you say.

She gives you a wicked smile, the kind that makes your skin tingle and your panties wet.

"Baby," she leans in and whispers against your neck, "that was kind of the plan."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : Gail and Holly + First Time

"So, Officer Peck," Holly said as she kissed her way back up Gail's body, "what do you think?"

Gail drew in a shuddering breath, fighting hard to bring her heaving lungs under control.

"You know—Jesus, Holly," she gasped, "you know what they say about not knowing what you're missing?"

Holly smiles against the sweaty skin of Gail's collarbone, "I do."

"Well now" the blonde said as she reached out with shaky hands to bring Holly's head up to her own, "I know."

Holly laughed and Gail lifted her head to capture the other woman's mouth in slow, lazy kisses.

Softly, Holly trailed dancing fingers down Gail's trembling ribs, her smooth hip, until they reached their intended destination at the blonde's hot, wet center.

She swallowed Gail's gasp as she let her experienced fingers slide into the blonde's still-pulsing core, as her thumb began to move against the heat of Gail's hard clit. Holly laughed as Gail's kisses grew messy and desperate, wide and open-mouthed, losing any sort of form or finesse.

And when Gail's head fell back against the pillow, when she tensed and arched and lost her breath again, Holly followed her down, tracing her warm, wet tongue along the graceful column of Gail's throat, feeling the roaring of her own heart echoed in the thundering blood under Gail's delicate skin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : Gail Peck + weapons

Gail Peck grew up around weapons.

She knew how to strip, clean, assemble, care for and shoot a gun before she was out of primary school. Her dad gave her lessons in self-defense when she started to show an interest in the boys at school. When she started a job as a waitress at a bar downtown the year she turned eighteen, Steve bought her a knife and taught her how to use it.

Weapons have never scared Gail. She's been taught to respect them first and use them second.

What scares Gail is love.

Love is a weapon that her parents never prepared her for. She doesn't know how to defend against it, how to survive it.

Gail knows that when the time comes, love will be her undoing.

Love will destroy her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Head-canon_ : Gail Peck and aviators

These sunglasses were the only thing left of Nick in the hotel room after he left her at the altar in Vegas. Gail sat on the floor of the bathroom for hours trying to work up the courage to decide whether to return home and face everybody or just walk out that door and never look back, at anyone or anything. When she finally stood up, determined that she wasn't going to let Nick have the best of her, wasn't going to ever let anyone have any part of her again, was never going to let herself get hurt again, she saw them sitting on the back of the toilet where he had left them. She considered throwing them out, but then didn't. Instead, she put them on to cover up her red, rough eyes.

She wore them to the bar that she spent the rest of the trip at, downing beer after beer until she could no longer remember the shape of Nick's jaw or the scent of the curve where his neck met his shoulder.

She wore them on the plane home, trying desperately to convince herself that the empty seat at her side didn't matter. Trying to figure out what to tell her parents, her brother. Trying to figure out what she was going to do with her life.

She wore them as she walked in for her Police Academy interview, and as she picked up her training gear. She wore them as she ran mile after mile, as she hauled her ass to her classes and to her favorite, secluded study spot.

At some point, Gail wasn't even sure when, the glasses weren't Nick's anymore. At some point, they became hers. She built herself around the those glasses, that heartbreak, all the pangs of sorrow and disappointment and betrayal. To Gail, those lenses were more of a shield than the badge she wore on her chest, the uniform, the gun she carried at her side. They were the distance she needed between the brightness of the world outside and the dark shadows in her heart.

Until Holly, whose love for her was like a sun.

Until Gail realized, for the first time in years, that she actually wanted to feel the warmth on her face, let the brightness in.

Until Holly stood before her one ordinary day and Gail realized that finally, finally, she just wanted to look. Wanted to finally see someone again. Wanted to be seen.

Those sunglasses are still around, in some box in the attic or lost in a closet somewhere. Gail's sure that she saw them when she packed her things and moved finally, officially, into Holly's house. Their home.

She just has no need for sunglasses anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : Gailly and boat

In the dream she’s in a boat, one gently rocking in a vast expanse of calm water that stretched out as far as she could see. The soft sound of water lapping at the side of the boat soothed her, and she closed her tired eyes, let herself slip deeper and deeper as the hazy light of day faded away into the horizon, into darkness. 

And then there was no boat, no light. 

Only the water rising, rising, rising. Higher and higher until it covered her shoulders, her neck, her mouth, nose, and eyes. 

And the last thing Gail remembered before sliding under the waves completely was the feel of the water in her mouth, in her chest. Breathing it in and out with heavy, liquid lungs. 

~ * ~ 

When she surfaces, Gail’s in the boat again. The water rolls and breaks against the boat this time, choppy waves visible in the distance. Something has disturbed her calm, smooth sea. 

But this time she’s no longer alone. Holly’s with her, sitting right across from her, mouth moving even though there’s no sound coming out. 

Gail knows she’s speaking, trying to say something, trying to get her attention. But she can’t make out the words, can’t hear past the dull roar in her ears. Still, she knows Holly is with her, she can feel the warm love the other woman’s presence always brings. So for a moment, she is content to sit and breathe and watch. 

It’s when she wants to reach out and touch Holly, feel her love’s smooth skin against her own, that she starts to panic. Because she cannot move. She’s frozen, trapped in her boat that lurches as the waters begin to twist and swirl, as the light in the sky gets strangely brighter and brighter. 

She remembers now, she’s looking for something, there’s something missing and she needs it, needs to find it desperately. She tries to thrash, tries to wrench free of whatever holds her back, whatever keeps her still and paralyzed in this churning sea. 

Whatever she is looking for, whatever she needs to find, Holly will know what to do. So she stops struggling against the powerful waters and stills herself, focusing on the image of the woman before her, the woman she loves. Letting the thought and memory of Holly calm the thoughts raging through her mind. 

And slowly Holly’s voice pierces through the roar in her ears. 

Louder, and louder. 

Until there’s nothing but Holly and the light and the water. 

Holly and the light. 

Holly. 

And then in an instant, a bright, blinding, blistering pain that threatens to consume her, to swallow her whole and drag her back again into the relief that the darkness brings. 

With a gasping, panicked breath, she wakes. 

~ * ~ 

“…happened?” 

She almost doesn’t recognize her own voice. It’s quiet, almost a whisper, and more raspy than she ever remembers it being before. 

This isn’t the first time she’s been awake, Gail knows that. She has flashes of seeing Holly’s pale, stricken face, of seeing Holly’s red and teary eyes. But that’s all she can recall. She can’t remember what happened, or why she’s in a hospital bed, or why there’s a dull, throbbing pain in her abdomen even with the morphine she can feel clouding her veins. 

The quiet question has startled Holly out of whatever exhausted trance she was in, and she turns her face toward the bed. 

“Hey,” she whispers, “hey beautiful.” 

She takes one of Gail’s hands in her own, bringing it up to rest against her own cheek. 

“How do you feel,” she asks. 

Gail tries to speak again, but her whole mouth is dry. The most she can manage is a rough sound in the back of her throat. But Holly understands, and reaches for a Styrofoam cup of melting ice chips, rubbing one gently along Gail’s lips until the blonde’s lips part enough to slip the wet, melting shard inside. The women are quiet for a few minutes as Gail soothes her greedy throat with the bits of ice the other woman feeds her, letting the cold water fill her mouth before swallowing it down. 

“Better, any pain? Do I need to call the doctor?” Holly asks, eyes searching Gail’s. 

But Gail shakes her head, and just repeats her earlier question, scrunching up her face as she tries to remember what happened to land her in the hospital. 

“Baby,” Holly starts to say, but in an instant Gail’s whole body tenses. 

She remembers. She remembers everything now. 

Everything falls into place and she knows why she feels empty, why she feels like something’s missing, why the only thing she can really, truly feel is a burning, throbbing pain in her womb. 

She starts to panic. She starts to fight against the sluggish feeling in her limbs. She starts to hyperventilate and suddenly she can’t breathe. She can’t draw in a breath and her terrified eyes search out Holly’s as she tries to force air into her lungs, tries to speak against the lump in her throat. 

Holly’s hands are on her face, pulling Gail back from her terror. 

“Hey,” she says to the gasping woman, “hey. Breathe in, just focus on my voice and breathe. In—there we go. Now out. Slowly, Gail. Slow, deep breaths. Listen to my voice, sweetheart. Feel my hands on your face. In. Good. Now out. Good girl.” 

It takes some time, but eventually Gail can breathe normally again. 

“Hol,” she asks a quiver in her voice, “Holly, what…” 

But her voice trails off, like she’s afraid to even say it, to make her worst fears come true. 

Hands still cradling Gail’s face, grounding her, Holly smiles with watery eyes. 

“He’s fine, Gail,” she says as the tears start to fall, “he’s here and he’s healthy. He’s perfect, you’re both absolutely perfect.” 

Gail knows that there are things Holly’s not telling her, she can see the leavings of several days of stress and fear that have made their home on her love’s brow. She knows that there are still mountains to climb and recoveries to be made. But she knows too that as much as the tears Holly cries are tears of relief, they’re also tears of happiness. She knows, she can feel it in Holly’s loving touch, that they’re all going to be okay. 

~ * ~ 

The boat’s still there the next time she dreams. 

The boat will probably always be there, waiting on the edges of her consciousness, waiting for her to embark on the great journey, to start again from where she left off. 

But today she’s safe on land, looking out over the vast expanse from her spot on the hot dry sand, with her wife at her side and their son, their tiny, sweet Hugo, asleep in her arms. 

She’s not going anywhere yet.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : Holly and makeup

Life, for all its mystery, is fairly predictable.

It moves on.

Whether you want it to or not.

But sometimes, if you’re really lucky, you get to start again.

This time there were no tragedies to bring them together.

This time there was only the passing of days and nights. The familiar pattern of breathing in, and then out. The circle of blood in their veins. The silence. The space.

So maybe you decide to go out for drinks with your friends and see the girl you’ve been moping over at the other end of the bar, drink in hand. Maybe everything becomes stunningly, startlingly clear. Maybe you finally figure out why everything has felt so terribly wrong lately.

Maybe you decide to take a chance.

And if you excuse yourself from the group and sidle up beside her to say hello, if you signal the bartender for another round while you reach for your wallet. If you sit down next to her and she looks at you and gives you a timid smile and says hello back and looks like she means it.

If she does this and for the first time in weeks you feel your heart settle back into its home in your chest. If she does this and you feel the weight on your chest finally lift, if you can finally breathe—deep and full—again.

If she smiles and your heart beats and you can breathe again, maybe you should smile back. Maybe you should reach for her hand.

Maybe you should take that chance.

Start again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : Gail sings "Let's Get It On" to Holly

**If You Feel, Like I Feel Baby**

She’s drunk, you know as you watch her mount the stage. Adorably drunk. 

She’d begun the evening in quite the pissy mood, all surly and standoffish with everyone, even you a bit, as you’d crowded into a booth at the Penny with her friends. Apparently it had been quite the day of metropolitan policing, full of drunks and fools. She’d had to chase some two-bit dealer eight blocks in the rain—you’ve heard that story several times already. Each time the estimated number of blocks gets just a bit longer. Last time she grumbled about it, right before Chris dropped off the latest of her drinks, it had been thirteen blocks.

You know how she gets, you understand her. So instead of pointing out all of the good things that had happened today—you’d gotten out of work early, for one—you just pat her knee and let her work the cranky out. You know how she works, how to give in and try to confront her snark would just rile it up all the stronger. You know that what she really just needs is the room to grump a little bit. And you’ve learned how to give it to her. You can be patient. You know who she loves. You know she knows she’s loved.

Now, between the alcohol and the space, she’s burned off all her ire and slipped into sweetness, into the adorable, touchy-feely Gail that is your absolute favorite. You love all of her facets, of course, but this one, the one where she runs her fingers through your hair as you sit side-by-side in the booth, the one where she kicks off a shoe and teases at your leg with her toes under the table, the one where she whispers into your ear all the delicious things she wants to do to you when you get home … this one is the Gail you love the most. 

This is the Gail who just downed another shot and stepped up to the karaoke machine. 

This is the Gail who gives you a wicked grin, the kind of grin you can feel all the way down to the heat between your legs, and saunters up to the mic. Just fucking swaggers up to it.

You know from the first note which song she’s chosen, and for a moment you’re torn between the hot tug of arousal in the depths of your belly and the little spark of fear at her reaction tomorrow when she wakes up with a horrible hangover and remembers that she did this in front of her friends and colleagues and brother. But then she starts swinging her hips and you don’t care. 

Come what may. 

Bring it on. 

Because the woman you love is up on stage singing about getting it on and rolling her hips to the music and you don’t care about anything that isn’t her, in this moment, in the space between your heartbeat and hers.

Come what fucking may.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : Gail's dad mug gets broken by a new rookie and Gail is devastated by it and will not stop complaining about how coffee now longer tastes the same. Holly buys her a new mug to replace it (can say whatever you chose)

It wasn’t that someone had broken her mug, not really. 

It was that someone had broken her mug and no one was willing to admit to it doing it.

"I don’t want to murder the person, Holly,” she said with a bit of a growl, “I just want to put the fear of God in them.”

"Fear of Gail, do you mean?" 

Gail glared over at her girlfriend. 

"It wasn’t you, was it? Because if it was you that’s okay. I’ll eventually forgive you. After a sufficient period of mourning for the mug and then maybe a month or three of being my handy-dandy sex slave…" Gail almost looked hopeful at the prospect.

Holly sighed. At least the other woman was starting to look on the bright side of things. She hadn’t broken her girlfriend’s favorite “Dad” mug, but she had reached the point where she was willing to cop to it just to get Gail to talk about something else for five minutes.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks of complaining about how none of the other mugs in the station were good enough. None of them fit her hand just perfectly, none of them held the heat long enough, some of them held the heat too long.

Two weeks of hearing about how Gail had interrogated a rookie about the mug, accused her brother, Chris, Dov, Nick, Oliver, and Nick again, each of having something to do with her mug’s tragic end, or even threatened to take the broken pieces down to the lab so her girlfriend could analyze the evidence. 

Holly had laughed at that one, yes, but, frankly speaking, she was getting a little tired of talking about a mug.

Plus, she wouldn’t mind the sex slave part. Not really. She’d do what she had to for the cause, you know. The only thing that kept her from just taking the fall for whomever had done it was her pride. Well, her pride and the fact that she was out of town on the, as Gail referred to them, “dates in question.”

So, she did the next best thing.

She got Gail a new mug.

And not a replacement mug. (She had heard enough times how you couldn’t just “replace” the stupid thing. It was, according to Gail, irreplaceable. Not that Gail could articulate why, of course. But whatever.)

But a mug no one else would dare to use. 

Because no one but the stupidest of rookies would be dumb enough to use a mug with Gail Peck’s cranky face plastered all over the side.

And if they did? 

Or, God forbid, broke it?

Well, then they deserved what they got.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt _: “In My Life” by The Beatles__

_**I Love You More** _

_There are places I remember_  
 _All my life though some have changed_  
 _Some forever not for better_  
 _Some have gone and some remain_

You know there’s a crowd growing in the hallway, you know your friends and family are milling about, just waiting for an update on her condition. But you can’t bring yourself to leave her side, can’t force yourself to put down her hand, to stop whispering in her ear.

All you can do is sit here, next to her bed. Your whole world has shrunk down into the space of this woman, into the sound of the machine breathing for her, the steady pattern of her heartbeat on the monitor across from you.

You know there are calls to make and people to inform, you know that at some point you’re going to have to step out of this quiet room and into the madness of the world beyond.

Just not yet.

You just can’t yet.

Because right now she’s breathing and her heart is beating and you’re not superstitious at all, not beyond the St. Michael’s pendant she gave you to wear over your own heart, but if you left, if you stepped out that door and something happened, if you blinked and she slipped away from you, you’d never forgive yourself.

So instead you’ll sit.

And you’ll wait.

You’ll pray and you’ll love.

 

_All these places have their moments_  
 _With lovers and friends I still can recall_  
 _Some are dead and some are living_  
 _In my life I’ve loved them all_

It’s Nick who breaks your vigil. Who knocks gently at the windowed wall and waits to be invited in. You’re glad it’s him, of all of them. You’re glad because of everyone else back there he knows you the best. He’ll know that what you need is not Chris’s stammering and apologies, not Dov’s well-meaning but terrible questions, not Andy’s uncertain sympathy or Chloe’s irrepressible optimism.

Nick, though, Nick is steady. Always has been. He’s steady and he’s strong and when you compare your memories of loving him to how you feel about Holly, you know that all your favorite things about Nick are the things that he and Holly share. Holly, though, she’s more. She’s always been more. From the very start. She made you feel things that you’ve never felt with anyone else, not Nick, not Chris. Not the few one night stands you’ve had over the years. Not even your friends and family have ever made you feel so safe, so loved, so absolutely whole as the woman laying silent in the bed before you.

And you have no idea how you’ll be able to exist after her. Without her.

 

_But of all these friends and lovers_  
 _There is no one compares with you_  
 _And these memories lose their meaning_  
 _When I think of love as something new_

You haven’t cried yet, but you can’t cry in front of Nick. So you squeeze your eyes shut tight and force the tears away.

"Hey," he says quietly, coming to stand on the other side of Holly’s bed.

You can’t speak, can’t break your own silence. So when he asks how Holly is you just give him a shrug, not willing to look away from her quiet, still face.

"I just wanted," he starts and stops. "I just wanted to let you know that the suspect is in custody. He was hiding in the attic. Rookie got reamed out at the station, they took his badge and gun. Word from Ollie is that he’s done, out."

You can see him bounce from foot to foot, almost nervously, as he tells you. As if he’s not sure what you’re going to do. What, go after the rookie? It doesn’t matter. Nothing that’s happened matters anymore. Not when the center of your universe has stopped turning, not when the one person who makes your world make sense is flat on her back fighting for her life.

Not when you can still see flecks of her blood under your fingernails.

 

_Though I know I’ll never lose affection_  
 _For people and things that went before_  
 _I know I’ll often stop and think about them_  
 _In my life I love you more_

It had happened in an instant, a chain of events faster than you could follow. There was a shot and a shout and a thud, all in one single moment, and then you were running up a flight of stairs in a strange house to the place you last saw her. The room where over a dead body, and with a smile on your face, you settled on plans for dinner later that night.

You ran harder and faster than you’ve ever run before. You didn’t stop for the body running toward you; you didn’t think about it, you just trusted that your friends behind you, your fellow officers, would catch him. Instead you only thought of Holly.

Holly and her smile.

Holly and her warm, soft skin in the mornings.

Holly and the way she made your lungs pause and your heart stop.

You’re not sure if you’ll ever get those images back, if you’ll ever think of her and see those things first in your mind. In the space of a single moment everything good was wiped away and replaced with the sight of the woman you love on the ground, dark red blood pooling around her body.

Everything gets blurry after that. You think you radioed for a bus, or maybe it was Andy. You know that you dropped down to your knees and started putting pressure on the wound; you know this because you can still feel the heat of her blood on your hands. A paramedic took over, you think. And then you can remember holding Holly’s cold, thin hands in your own, holding her hands and looking at her wide, terrified eyes, and telling her that everything was going to be okay.

You think you promised.

You know you told her how much she was loved.

You just hope she heard you.

 

_Though I know I’ll never lose affection_  
 _For people and things that went before_  
 _I know I’ll often stop and think about them_  
 _In my life I love you more_

You’re on the verge of giving in to your exhaustion, slowly dozing off to the sound of her mom and your mom chatting quietly on the other side of the room. You’ve pulled the mildly comfortable hospital chair up as close as you can to the side of the bed, tucked your knees under your body, leaned forward, and lain your head down upon your folded arms right next to Holly’s sleeping form. Someone—your mother, maybe—had covered you up with a blanket and you think you’d said thank you. Or thought about it.

You almost miss it, the gentle tugging of your hair. You’re sinking, sinking, sinking into sleep and the feel of someone softly scratching at your scalp is too familiar to pull you back into awareness immediately. But then you remember what, and why, and who, and you open your eyes.

Her hand is tangled in your hair, you can feel it now, but her eyes are still closed. And her face, Holly’s beautiful, beautiful face, is scrunched up like she’s in pain. She’s fighting her way back up from under the heavy weight of drugs and pain and trauma, and you just want to soothe away all her hurts and pains and fears.

You lift your head and sit up, wrapping your hand around hers and feel her fingers move against your palm.

"Hey, hey, hey," you say softly as you hear her whimper, "it’s okay, Hol, it’s okay." 

Your mom steps out for a doctor and Holly’s makes her way up to stand near the head of the bed, taking her daughter’s free hand in her own. 

"Holly," you say, and gently push her hair back, letting your thumb massage away the frustrated wrinkle of her brow, "come on, beautiful, time to wake up."

It takes a few more minutes, but she opens her eyes just as the nurse steps in.

"Good girl," you whisper as the nurse squeezes past you.

You barely notice her, or the doctor who comes in soon after.

Instead you just squeeze Holly’s hand, and try not to cry when she squeezes back. You watch her face as the doctor fills her in, and smile at the emotions that pass over her tired face. First confusion, then concern, and then absolute incredulity.

"Someone shot me?" she whispers hoarsely, her throat still sore from the breathing tube, “Who bailed you out?”

There’s your girl.

There’s your love.

 

_In my life I love you more_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Yes Is Being My Answer** _

"You're telling me that you've never seen _Love Actually_ before?" Holly asked, not believing what she'd heard.

"As I recall, there is a distinct lack of sharknados, civilization-ending blizzards, or super-sized insects so," Gail said from her place on the couch, "that would be a no."

Holly snorted. Gail's taste in movies was ridiculous. Holly had quickly learned her girlfriend absolutely loved terrible B-style movies. The stupider the premise, the better. No matter how many times she'd explained to the cop the fact that never, in the history of the planet, could forces align to create a tornado made out of sharks, Gail refused to delete the stupid movie from the DVR.

"Well, then," Holly said as she came back into the living room with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn, "that's it. That's what we're watching tonight."

"But _The Day After Tomorrow_ is on, and _Volcano_ 's on right after," Gail made a pouty face, "don't you want to watch that instead?"

"I regret telling you about my childhood Gaby Hoffmann crush," Holly answered as she settled onto the couch next to her sulking blonde. "And no, I do not want to watch _Volcano_ again. Or _The Day After Tomorrow._ Or anything where the world or humanity are threatened by some environmental or technological disaster."

"What about--"

"No _Star Wars_ ," Holly insisted firmly. "We're going to watch _Love Actually_. You're going to snuggle up and we're going to watch something sweet and romantic and beautiful. And you're going to enjoy it. In fact, I bet you're going to love it."

Gail scowled at her, but scooted closer into Holly's warmth anyway.

"I'd take that bet," she said under her breath.

Holly smiled and called up the movie as Gail moved to lay her head down in her lap.

"Deal," she said, gently teasing her hand over the other woman's ribs. "If you don't love it, I'll watch nothing but stupid disaster movies and space operas until even you can't stand them anymore."

Gail snickered confidently around the handful of popcorn in her mouth.

~ * ~

_[Roughly two and a half hours later.]_

"Shut up. I'm not crying, you're crying."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt:_ Cheiloproclitic - Being attracted to someone's lips.

Gail came awake with a gasp, the last images of the dream quickly fluttering away as she struggled to control her breathing.

It wasn't the first sex-dream she'd had, not by a long shot.

It wasn't the first time she'd woken, throbbing, her blood pulsing hot and heavy through her veins, her hand trapped under the waistband of her sodden panties.

Gail liked sex, she was good at it. She enjoyed the heat of the act, the sweat and the feel of another body close against her own. She liked the sensation of being stretched, and filled. Liked the way a good orgasm shot out from her center, like bolts of electricity, shocking her nerves all the way to her fingertips, her toes.

And when it had been too long in-between bouts, she was no stranger to taking care of herself. To releasing a little pent-up energy in the shower, or in bed when she was sure the guys were out or already asleep. She had no problem reaching into the bedside drawer for the bottle of lube she kept there, let her fingers do the walking. Or maybe even the vibrator she kept in there for the nights when she needed something more to push her over the edge.

But lately there had been no sex, not since the terrible night that ended her relationship with Nick. (And what sex there was that night definitely could have been better, that's for sure.) And after a string of long days and longer nights on-duty, Gail had been too tired to even think about trading sleep for an orgasm of any kind.

So it's not entirely a surprise that her brain took care of things for her.

She pulled her hand out from her underwear and lay it over her still trembling abdomen. No, it was no surprise that her brain had decided to treat her to what felt like the best orgasm she'd had in a long time.

The surprise had been in the who her unconscious mind had conjured up to tango with.

Most of the dream has disappeared from her consciousness already, but what Gail can remember are soft brown eyes, dark rimmed glasses, and a pair of dusky-rose colored lips.

Those soft, sweet lips had traveled her body with hot, open-mouthed kisses. Had lingered over every spot that curled her toes, every little secret place that Gail had. The patch of skin behind her earlobe, the underside of her breast, her nipples, her belly-button, the soft pillow of flesh right above her center.

Those lips had mapped her body like they were conquering a new world.

Then finally, finally they'd settled into the hot triangle at the apex of Gail's legs. And ever so delicately, they'd taken her clit in-between them, letting a tongue tease ever-so gently at the tip. And there they'd stayed, whispering their desire against her soaked flesh, pulling wants and needs out of Gail that she'd never known she was harboring.

Until, with a gasp, she woke.

She woke with the image of those lips, those eyes, still burned into her memory. Holly's face burned into her memory.

Thinking about it, about the dream, about Holly, Gail could feel the heat begin to grow again, could feel the want and the wet pool deep inside her body.

But she rolled over instead, pushing the desire to start again away.

Holly was her friend, maybe her closest friend. And while it was one thing to dream, it was something else entirely to cross that line deliberately.

One thing was sure though.

Gail certainly had a lot to think about.

Starting with the lips.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt:_ Apodyopis - The act of mentally undressing someone.

Holly didn't mean to stare.

She really didn't.

But she couldn't help it.

Gail looked just … delicious tonight. Absolutely delectable in her tight, tight black dress. The one with the low-cut front that just barely covered her flawless breasts. The backless one that put the smooth skin of her back, the sexy line of her muscles, on display for all to see. The dress seemed to caress the blonde's body, hugging every line of her torso, every curve of her hips and ass, coming to an end at mid-thigh.

It wasn't just a dress.

It was pure sex.

So Holly didn't mean to stare, but she couldn't help it.

The dress was her undoing.

Had been her undoing since the first time she'd seen Gail wear it, back when they were dating.

She'd made reservations for the two of them at one of the more up-scale restaurants downtown and picked Gail up from the precinct after her shift was over. Holly couldn't remember what she wore that night. But she remembers that dress.

Remembers seeing Gail walk out of the locker room at the 15 and just glide across the open space, hips swaying sexily as she walked. Remembers feeling her mouth go dry with want and her lungs struggle to take in the next breath. How she felt lightheaded as all her hot blood rushed down, down, down.

They almost didn't make it to the restaurant that night. She almost gave in to the lust burning in her belly, almost drove them home so she could press her girlfriend's pale, hard body up against the wall of her foyer, push the dress up and over Gail's hips, and take, just take what she wanted.

She knows for a fact that Gail would't have had any complaints.

But the wait was worth it, because later that evening, head fuzzy from the bottle of champagne they'd shared, she'd done just that. Taken Gail in the hallway. And then, once she'd caught her breath and Gail had stopped trembling, led them both off to the bedroom. She'd laid her girl back onto the bed, ever so gently. Laid Gail down and then slipped the dress the rest of the way off, exposing those beautiful breasts, the flat expanse of Gail's stomach. And then she'd worshiped at the blonde's body again, as reverently as if she were a goddess, and Holly an acolyte at her temple.

Tonight, tonight all those memories are making it hard to think.

Seeing Gail again, in that dress, is making it hard to breathe.

She's not supposed to look at the blonde like this anymore, she'd had the chance to go back, to start again, and she'd turned it down, afraid of just how deeply she could fall.

She's not supposed to look but she can't look away.

Because she sees the woman she loves in that dress and remembers.

More than remembers, she knows.

She knows how it would feel to run her hands along the fabric. Knows that if she were to slip her hand under the hem and up, up to cup the blonde's ass, there would be nothing between her flesh and Gail's.

She knows how Gail's nipples would look as she lifted the dress up and over her shoulders, pert and perky and just too sweet not to dip her head down for a taste. Knows that if she were to tangle the dress in Gail's hands and command her to stay still, to let Holly drink her fill, like a dying man at a well, the blonde would look down at her with such a smile, and listen, and stay.

She'd stay, and Holly would never let her go again.

So lost is Holly in this fantasy that she doesn't notice Gail drifting closer and closer. Doesn't notice until suddenly Gail's voice is in her ear, her breath hot against her neck.

"Well, hello, doctor," the officer said, taking a sip from one of the flutes of champagne in her hands.

Holly swallowed. "Gail," she said with a slight stutter, "I didn't know you'd be here tonight."

The blonde handed her the other glass of champagne with a smirk.

"Hmmm," she said in reply, "I knew you would."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt:_ Sphallolalia - Flirtatious talk that leads no where (Gail and Officer Luck)

Gail stepped up to the bar and ordered two beers and two shots of tequila. She busied herself looking through the papers shoved in the pockets of her wallet while she waited for the bartender to get around to her drinks.

She was busy trying to figure out why she still had a receipt for paint when she felt a hip bump suggestively into her own.

"Hey, I just ordered for us," she said looking up, expecting to see Holly next to her.

Instead, it was Officer Luck.

Goddamn Officer Luck from the 27th.

"What do you want," Gail asked in a guarded tone.

Of course the bartender had the worst timing in the world, setting the drinks down right as Luck hopped up on the stool next to the bar.

"Well, let's start with one of these," Luck said as she took the shot of tequila and threw it back, "and then see where it goes."

Gail just looked at her, temporarily frozen in shock.

"Hey, I don't know where you get off, Luck, but—"

The other woman sidled up closer, close enough that Gail could smell the beer she must have been drinking earlier. Luck was drunk, and worse than that, she was a handsy drunk. Gail tried to shrug off the hand that had slipped under her leather jacket to grasp at her hip, but the crowd around the bar made doing so difficult.

"I'll get off wherever you want, Peck," Luck said in Gail's ear.

Gail shuddered in revulsion.

Unfortunately, the drunk woman took it as permission to continue.

"Luck," Gail said sternly, "you're drunk. You're drunk and you're seriously crossing some boundaries. And you drank my tequila. So if you don't want to get yourself—"

The other officer cut her off by pressing her lips to Gail's mouth. Or trying to, really. She missed her mark and ended up kissing Gail's chin.

"Seriously, stop it," Gail said again, giving the woman one last chance to pull herself together.

Luck pulled back just a bit, hand still under Gail's jacket.

"What, you're too good for me, is that it, Peck? Family too high in the pecking order to date some nobody beat cop like me?"

"No, Luck. I'm just, I'm meeting someone—I'm seeing someone, okay? It has nothing to do with you."

Gail could see the hurt in the other woman's eyes, and it gentled her, just the slightest. So she didn't tell Luck that she only had eyes for Holly, was only interested in Holly. She and Holly had only been back together for a little while, but Gail was certain that the doctor was it for her. Forever.

Luck, for her part, took a step back and pulled her hand away. "Wes said you guys broke up, said he heard it from Chloe," she said.

"That was just temporary," Gail heard as Holly came up behind her and kissed her on the cheek. "Hey, honey," the doctor said as she threw an arm around Gail's shoulders, "is one of those for me?"

She reached over for one of the beers and took a sip before introducing herself to Luck.

"Look," the other officer said, "I'm sorry. I just—"

But Gail interrupted her. "Seriously. Let's just forget it ever happened, okay?"

Luck nodded and started to turn away.

"Hey, I owe you a shot, don't I?"

But Gail shook her head, "Consider it a gift, inter-departmental outreach."

They watched for a moment as the other officer walked away, and then Gail turned around to give her girlfriend a kiss.

"Just how long were you watching," she asked Holly, a smirk on her lips.

"Just long enough to watch you go from murderous to squishy," the doctor responded.

Gail laughed and kissed Holly again before sighing. "She was pretty drunk," she said, "and I should probably go look and make sure she can get home on her own."

"Probably," Holly agreed, having seen how unsteady on her feet the woman had been. "Go on," she said, patting the blonde on the ass, "go look out for your fellow officer. I'll get us some more drinks and find a booth."

Thirty minutes later, after a call to Wes to come pick up his partner, Gail slid into the booth across from Holly.

"Hey," she said with a smile, letting her fingers tangle with Holly's on the table.

Holly smiled back at her, and ran a foot gently up Gail's leg.

"Hey."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : GAIL AND HOLLY SHARE A COKE WITH EACH OTHER'S NAMES.

"Hey, babe, come in here for a second."

"Uggghhh," Gail groaned loudly as she dragged herself off the couch and into the kitchen. "Lunchbox, I was almost asleep."

Holly grinned. "Oh, was taking out the garbage that exhausting?"

"Ummm."

"Gail! You swore you'd take the garbage out if I didn't make you come grocery shopping with me."

The blonde had the good sense to look sheepish, at least.

"I was getting around to it," she said. "And it's not like you said I had to do it before you got back. Or today. You should really be more specific in your requests, Hol."

Holly just shook her head, not sure if she was amused or annoyed. Probably a little of both.

"I'll do it later, I swear. Now why did you drag me in here?"

The brunette rolled her eyes. Sure, later.

"Oh, I was emptying the soda into the fridge and look…"

She held out two cans of diet coke to show.

"Okay," Gail drawled, "and?"

Holly turned the cans around so the blonde could see the names written on the side of them.

"They have our names on, isn't that cute," she asked as Gail took them from her.

Her girlfriend looked impressed as she saw that the two cans did, indeed, have their names written in red script on their sides.

"Hmmm," Gail said as Holly turned to put the rest of the cans in the fridge.

"I know," she said, "it's kind of cool, right? We should definitely keep them, you know? They're kind of symbo—"

[ _psssssst_ ]

"Gail!"

"What," the blonde asked after she swallowed, "I was thirsty."


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Head canon_ : Gail gets more stubborn when she's sick, Holly learns to work around her.

**Honey, Let Me Sing You a Song**

Gail Peck is a conundrum.

Break a nail, stub a toe, sneeze twice in less than an hour and she'll limp and whine and mope about for hours, proclaiming herself to be a lost cause, quickly fading away, a dead woman walking.

But when Gail gets sick, really sick, she refuses to believe it, refuses to give in to her body's demands. She stomps off to work sneezing and coughing and runny-nosed, and makes everyone within spitting distance miserable.

But as much as Holly hates to see Gail sick or in pain, she does find the sudden switch in personality a little amusing. Adorable, even. After she's managed to confine her girlfriend to the bed or the couch, that is.

She'd seen it coming last night, Gail's current condition. Seen it in the blonde's slightly glassy eyes and pale skin just smudged with the flush of fever. Seen it in the way Gail had drowsily gripped her utensils at dinner, in how quickly she'd curled into Holly on the couch and succumbed to sleep.

She could have said something, she could have pointed out all the signs. Once upon a time she would have.

But she knows better now. Knows that if she had said to Gail "Honey, I think you're coming down with something, you should go to bed early and get some extra sleep," the blonde would have scoffed, would have scoffed and then tried as hard as possible to prove her wrong. Gail would have fought sleep, fought anything that would help stave off whatever infection was slowly building. Just like that one time, early in their relationship, when Gail had denied she was sick for days. It took her initial cold developing into pneumonia and the threat of hospitalization to get finally get Gail to see sense, to follow Holly's advice and the doctor's treatment.

Now, though, Holly knows that the best way to get Gail to do something is to let the other woman think it was her idea in the first place.

So she doesn't say anything.

Instead, she makes chicken soup for dinner, and then she makes two cups of steaming hot tea and grabs a blanket and waits for Gail to join her on the couch. And when Gail does, she hands her girlfriend a mug of tea before pulling the blanket over their bodies and queuing up one of the pawn shop shows that she likes and Gail pretends not to.

Gail "hmmms" quietly at the tv while they drink their tea, and when she's finished, Holly takes the mug from her and puts it on the table next to the couch. Within minutes, the weight of Gail's body leans into her, and then goes slack. Holly just sits for a long while, watching television and gently stroking the satiny blonde hair in her lap.

Eventually, she wakes Gail up, kissing softly at the blonde's forehead, and they head off to bed. By the time Holly has changed and washed up for the night, her girlfriend is fast asleep again in her nest of blankets. She doesn't even stir as Holly curls around her, and tucks her chin in the crook of Gail's shoulder.

In the morning, Gail is slow to wake, but that's not unusual. Holly goes about her normal routine, lets the blonde rise on her own terms. Eventually she hears the shower turn on as she pours them both a cup of coffee.

But slowly the coffee cools, and still Holly can hear the shower running in the background. She's a little worried when she knocks on the bathroom door, a little more when she doesn't get an answer right away.

Inside the bathroom, Gail is huddled on the floor of the tub as the steaming water streams down over her.

"Gail," Holly asks tentatively, moving into the room to turn the water off and reach for one of their big, fluffy bath towels.

When Gail lifts her head, Holly has to fight not to smile. Not because her girlfriend looks so miserable, but because with her wide glassy eyes and her sad, pouty mouth, Gail looks about fourteen, and adorable. Holly just wants to wrap the blonde up in her arms and hold her until her fever cools and her aches go away.

"Hey, baby," she says, dropping to a kneel next to the tub, "what's wrong?"

"I'm sick," Gail answers, biting at the side of her lip.

Holly wraps the towel around her, and then stands up, pulling Gail with her.

"Yeah," she says to the blonde, "I know." The hand she rests on Gail's forehead tells her that the fever is high, but not high enough to need to visit the doctor. Not yet, anyway.

No, what her girl needs is rest, and fluids, and love.

"Come on," Holly whispers as she twists and wraps Gail's long blonde hair up into a towel and then pats her warm body dry, "let's get you into something warm, and then I'll call us both in sick and we'll go back to bed, okay?"

Her girlfriend nods, and it's pathetic and it's beautiful. She's beautiful. Even red-eyed and skin flushed with fever, even with tired limbs and chapped lips, she's beautiful.

"Come on, honey," Holly says once more, "let me take care of you today."

And Gail does.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : WHO DO YOU THINK PROPOSES? GAIL OR HOLLY?

**A Heart, A House, A Home**

In a way, neither.

Technically, Steve says, he did. 

They start up again slowly, exactly the opposite of their first time around.

They’d both struggle because they know, you know? They know that they love each other, but the breakup is still so fresh in their memories. And they’re not sure, what if the other doesn’t feel the same way? What if they screw it up again? What if they lose each other again? So they’re scared and it takes them months to move from kind of dating to seriously dating. But it’s worth it because they rebuild all that lost trust.

They start sleeping together maybe five or six months after getting back together, because they don’t want to rush like before, and the first morning after Gail gets up early and makes coffee, and then she just stands in the doorway of Holly’s room, watching Holly sleep as the sun comes up. And she knows then that this is her last chance. Because there will never be anyone after Holly. Ever. Holly’s it for her. And so she has to be so careful, because of she screws this up she’ll never recover. She doesn’t want to be that person she was during their breakup ever again. That raw and hurting and angry and bitter woman that she was before they met.

Holly asks Gail to move in a few months after that, and Gail says no. Not because she doesn’t want to, but because they’re not ready, and she’s mature enough to know the difference. And even though she’s disappointed, Holly understands. “Maybe,” she tells Gail, “when we’re ready we can look for a new place, a place that’s ours.” And the smile that Gail gives her is so softly beautiful that Holly can’t help herself. She lays Gail down on the bed and makes love to her so slowly and delicately that by the end Gail is weeping. Because it’s never been like this before, no one’s ever loved her like this before, no one’s ever made her feel like this before.

It takes Gail six weeks before she feels like they’re ready, and one night she shows up at Holly’s with take-out Chinese food and a folder full of realtor info and printouts of houses on the market that she thinks the two of them can afford. When Holly brings out her own folder Gail laughs, because three of the houses in their folders are the same. So they agree to look at those ones as soon as they can, and then Gail starts tearing off her clothes and Holly’s clothes, and they fuck on the couch with leftover takeout on the coffee table and a rerun of M*A*S*H playing on the tv in the background.

They fight over which house they want after walking through them, and it doesn’t matter anyway because there are already offers on the ones they each want. Gail is pissed off and starts walking home, and three blocks away from the house Holly wanted to put an offer in on, she comes across this robin’s egg blue house with a “For Sale by Owner” sign up in the front. She thinks about calling Holly, but she’s still mad and so she knocks on the door and asks if she can look around when a little old lady opens it.

The house is perfect, the perfect combination of everything they both want. A backyard, an attic, two and a half bathrooms, three bedrooms and an office. A detached garage with a basketball hoop. The old woman tells her about the summer her husband was out of work and built the big raised garden beds in the back for her, and points out the creaky stair (how she always knew when her sons were sneaking in after curfew) and the dent in the wall where one of her boys accidentally put his head through the drywall wrestling with his brother.

It’s just perfect. And it’s in their budget. So she makes an offer, without consulting Holly. And she knows it’s wrong, as much as she knows Holly will love it. She knows it’s wrong but she’s in love with the house and can see herself and Holly in every corner of every room. It’s worth the doghouse, she figures. And it is, but she’s in the doghouse for a while. More than a week. She even sleeps on the couch one night. But in the end Holly is just as much in love with the house as she is. And when the woman’s sons come to the closing, she laughs when Gail asks who put whose head through the wall.

They settle into the house easily, each making parts of it their own. Holly sets up an office, Gail turns the attic into a video game room, complete with mini fridge for drinks and an old sofa that’s perfect for Saturday afternoon naps.

They’re in love and life is perfect—they see no reason to change it. Not until they’re at the Penny with the gang one night and Steve asks the question. “So when are you two just going to get married,” he says, his own ring catching the light overhead. Holly doesn’t say anything, she’s not sure how to respond. But Gail does. Gail is. She sticks her tongue out at Steve and tells him to stay out of her business.

And then, after she finishes the last of her beer, and sticks her hand in her pocket for her wallet, she looks at Holly. “We really should,” she says. “Get married, I mean,” she continues when Holly looks confused. And then she pulls her hand out of her pocket and reaches into her wallet and pulls out a ring from the coin pouch there.

"So," she says to her speechless girlfriend, the love of her life, the most wonderful person she’s ever met, "what do you think?"


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : "Chasing Cars," Snow Patrol

**If I Just Lay Here**

They kissed and let the water fall around them like rain.

It was like a baptism, a rebirth into something new and whole. Something that couldn’t be touched by all the darkness that haunted her. Pure and beautiful and light.

It was a washing away of sins, of wounds that had never healed, of nightmares Gail was certain would never end.

She felt clean, for the first time in years, she felt clean.

And as she stood there, held tightly in Holly’s arms, she felt safe.

Gail felt safe.

~ * ~

Nothing happened that night. Nothing beyond pressure of lips on lips and the heat of tongue against tongue. But still, Gail felt like she had been awakened, like all the colors that she left in that dark, damp basement came flooding back into her heart, into her soul.

She tried to explain it, tried to explain that the hot tears on her face, rolling down her cheeks were happy things, were joyful. Were something to be celebrated. Gail tried to explain to her beautiful Holly that for the first time since she’d been taken, for the first time since she’d been left, she truly felt complete. She truly felt alive.

But her words failed her, her words always failed her.

Instead, she let Holly slowly dry her off, let the other woman gently lead her into the bedroom. She let this gorgeous, kind, amazing woman tenderly pull a long, soft shirt over her body, and guide her down onto the bed. And then she let Holly hold her, in a way she could never let anyone else touch her, move her, comfort her.

And it was just what she needed.

She held onto Holly, her anchor in the deep, dark sea of sheets, and for a moment, the world seemed right again. And there was no blood, and there was no death.

There was just this woman, this woman who made her blood run hot, who made her fingers and toes tingle with the possibility of something miraculous, whose soft loving voice drowned out all the others in her head.

Until there was just Holly.

And her.

Together.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : hold my hand

Gail scrunched up her eyes as the attendant buckled her into the hard plastic seat of the roller-coaster. She looked over to her side, to where Holly was excitedly blabbering on about how this roller coaster was the tallest in the park, with the highest peaks and the fastest rate of acceleration on the drop. 

"We’ll be going almost 150 kilometers per hour, Gail," the doctor said with a bit of a squeal.

Gail swallowed hard and felt her stomach twist and turn at the information.

Something she’d learned today?

Holly loved roller coasters. 

The higher, the faster, the more death-defying, the better. 

Something else she’d learned?

She hated roller coasters. Hated waiting in the long lines. Hated the way her lungs stopped working as the cars rose slowly, slowly away from the loading zone. Hated the way her stomach dropped out of her body every time they reached a drop, the way her body and limbs were thrown around with each twist and turn. Hated the stupid photos the ride took at strategically placed points during the ride, points that always caught her looking like she was trying to hold in a sneeze and a fart at the same time.

She hated them. 

Gail Peck faced down death every day. But a roller coaster? A big blue monster called “The Leviathan?” 

It was too much. 

But apparently Holly loved them. 

And the look on her girlfriend’s face, the joy in her voice? She couldn’t bear the thought of putting that light out. 

Which is how she found herself in a car, slowly inching up a track once again.

"Gail, Gail!" Holly called into the wind, and Gail turned her head to see what the brunette wanted.

Holly gave her the sweetest smile, and then reached out to grab at Gail’s hand, to squeeze it tight in her own.

"Thank you," she said, and Gail smiled back. 

Maybe this one would be better.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : separation

"It’s not a break-up," Gail said for what must have been the thousandth time, "it’s a separation."

When Chloe started to laugh, the blonde threw her a particularly vicious glare. 

"Wait," the laughing officer said, trying to catch her breath, "are you telling me that you didn’t break up, you’re just on a break?"

She laughed even harder. 

Gail took a deep breath, and tried to keep from putting hands on her partner for the day. If they both made it back to the station alive, she was going to have to talk with Oliver about never, ever assigning her to work with Deputy Dorkbait again.

"No, Price," Gail growled, "this isn’t an episode of Friends. We’re not on a break. We’re just separated.”

"But seriously, Gail, Dov and I watched this episode just last week. Rachel and Ross are dating and then Ross thinks Rachel is sleeping with someone else and then he sleeps with someone else—"

"—I’ve seen the episode, Chloe," Gail barks, rubbing at her forehead, "but I’m not Ross and Holly’s not Rachel but now that you mention it, you definitely remind me of the stupid monkey."

Chloe claps her hands together, “You mean Marcel? Isn’t he adorable?”

"No, Price, he’s a monkey. And Holly and I aren’t on a break and we’re not broken up. We’re just apart. You get it? Separated. By an international border. And customs officials. And a couple thousand miles. And a time zone or two. But we’re still very much together, you big baboon."

The other officer is silent for a moment, and then she reaches over to pat Gail on the arm. 

"Marcel wasn’t a baboon, Gail. I think he was a capuchin. Baboons are bigger. And I don’t think you can have one as a pet, either."

Gail just sighed again.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : with you

Holly listened to the steady breathing of the woman asleep in the bed next to her. 

In and out, in and out.

The rhythm soothed her, calmed the anxiety that had been eating away at her ever since Gail had called her late, late last night. 

Holly shifted in the hard plastic of the hospital chair, tucking her legs up under her and propping her head up on her raised arm. There was no comfortable way to sit in these chairs, she knew from experience. But still, maybe if she could just find the right position, she could close her eyes and sleep for a bit. 

But she knew that it wasn’t going to happen. Knew that she was going to do her best to stay awake, to watch over Gail as she slept the sleep of the heavily medicated. 

She didn’t want to miss anything, didn’t want to spend any more time not looking at this woman.

Gail scrunched up her face and groaned in her sleep.

"Oh, honey," Holly said, and put down the issue of The American Journal of Pathology she’d grabbed and shoved into her carry-on as she ran out of her apartment after getting Gail’s phone call. She reached out to smooth over the spiky locks of Gail’s short hair. The blonde certainly looked worse for wear. It had been a rough few days from the bits Gail had told her over the phone.

"I should have been here," the brunette continued as she let her hand rest atop Gail’s forehead, "I should have been here to keep an eye on you. Maybe it wouldn’t have gotten so bad. Maybe we would have caught it earlier and you wouldn’t have needed such an invasive procedure."

Holly felt the phone in her pocket buzz, but she ignored it. Anyone who mattered knew where she was, knew what was going on and would leave a message. Anyone who didn’t? Could wait. 

"You know," she said to the sleeping woman before her, "most of the time they can just go in laparoscopically now. Barely any scar, short recovery period, nothing like the giant incision you have right now or the weeks of desk duty you’re going to suffer through. Oh, you’re going to be a terror, aren’t you?"

A nurse came in to check on Gail’s vitals, acknowledging Holly with a soft smile.

"How’s she been doing," the older woman asked as she adjusted something in Gail’s IV.

"Sleeping. Narcotics always knock her down pretty bad," Holly answered.

The nurse nodded.

"Anything I can get you? Pillow, blanket?" 

But Holly shook her head, she didn’t want to sleep yet.

And then they were alone again, the doctor and the sleeping patient. 

"I’m angry at you, you know," Holly said to Gail’s unconscious form, "you should have told me immediately that something was wrong. I would have told you to get checked out right away. Maybe then you wouldn’t have called me from the ambulance or been rushed into emergency surgery."

Holly wouldn’t forget that phone call. Hearing Gail in such pain, her voice high and tight. She’d been able to hear the tears, she’d had to imagine Gail’s face, the way the shorter woman looked even smaller on the gurney. She’d heard the wail of the siren as she tried to talk Gail through the pain, tried to soothe from the other side of the continent. 

She doesn’t even remember packing her bag or calling a taxi to take her to the airport. One minute she was listening to Gail’s heavy, labored breathing in her ear and the next she was staring at a flashing “Buckle Seatbelts” sign on a red-eye flight heading east toward Toronto.

Holly took Gail’s hand—the one without the IV—into her own, and started to draw gentle circles on the pale skin with her thumb.

The brunette took a deep breath, and then spoke again.

"I’m angry at me too," she said. "I should have been here. I should have been with you. I never should have left."

Holly leaned forward and laid her head down on the bed next to their joined hands.

"I never should have left," she repeated, "because what if something happened? What if something happened and I wasn’t here? Look, I leave for a few months and your appendix literally almost explodes before you think to call me. What if next time it’s something worse, a knife or a bullet? What if I can’t get here in time and you never know, you never know how much I love you. How hard it is to be away from you?"

She could feel herself slipping under, could feel the darkness beckoning, but she wasn’t done yet.

"I love you, Gail Peck. And I’m coming home. I’m coming home to be with you, okay?"

In the quiet of the room, just before she fell asleep, just before she let the darkness take her, Holly felt Gail’s body shift.

And then, so quietly she almost thought she dreamt it, Holly heard Gail respond, her voice raw and deep.

"I love you too."


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : in the snow

It was a little weird, Holly thought to herself. 

Her girlfriend was, for all appearances, one of the grumpiest people she’d ever met. She might find the blonde’s cranky face absolutely adorable, but she’d seen grown men step back under the heat of Gail’s glare, and arrogant teenagers suddenly forget how to speak. 

But right now, there was no trace of that Gail. That grouchy, gruff Gail was nowhere to be seen.

In her place was a Gail that Holly was seeing more and more of every day. A happy, carefree, sweet Gail.

Holly had awoken that morning to an empty spot next to her on the bed. Her snoring lump of arms and legs that usually slept wrapped around her was missing. 

Also missing, Holly discovered after she’d slipped into her robe and slippers and padded down the hall to bedroom on the other side of the bathroom, was their adopted daughter Sophie. That, too, was weird, because Sophie was normally harder to wake up than her blonde mother was, and definitely even less of a morning person. Holly had spent many a breakfast sitting across the table from her two girls, trying not to smile at their matching cranky frowns, the way they shoveled cereal into their mouths with their eyes closed, and the way they propped their heads up on their hands. 

The brunette made her way to the living room, expecting to see her family asleep on the couch with Saturday morning cartoons playing on the television, or fighting their way through some dungeon or another on the PS4 Holly had bought them for Christmas. 

But the tv was dark and the couch was empty. 

So was the kitchen. 

And the study.

For a second, Holly wondered whether she should be concerned. 

But then she heard a dull thumping against the side of their house. She pulled the curtain aside and looked out the big French doors leading to their deck.

And there she found them, her girls. Two heads covered in brightly colored knit caps were popping up in-between the snowdrifts in their backyard, and every now and again, Holly could a pair of mittened hands lob a snowball in the direction of the other. That explained the thumping, she thought and smiled at Gail and Soph’s antics.

Off in the corner, tucked in the corner where Steve had hung a tire swing off the big shady oak tree, she saw a little snow-family. Two big snowpeople, scarves wrapped around their necks and big carrots for their noses, and between them, a slightly shorter one, its head covered in what Holly recognized as the too-big touque Chloe had knit for Sophie’s Christmas present. 

She stood there for a moment, just watching them. Just drinking the sweetness of seeing her girls, big and small, fool around in the freshly fallen snow. And then Gail caught sight of her standing at the door, and waved.

Holly smiled.

It was going to be a good day.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : tongue-tied

It wasn’t that Chris didn’t enjoy hanging out with Gail and Holly. He did. He and Gail may not have had the best history romantically, but they’d grown to be good friends in the years since they broke up. 

And he liked Holly. She was smart and funny and, yes, she was hot. Strictly in a platonic sense, of course. And she was good for Gail, she really, really was. Gail smiled more around the doctor, and she was kinder, and he didn’t get punched as often when Holly was around.

But that last thing, the punching, wasn’t so much due to Holly’s taming of the wild police officer as it was the fact that ever since she and Holly had reconciled, their nights at the Penny mostly involved them sitting in the dark corner of the usual booth and making out. 

Yep, That’s right. Gail Peck. Making out. In public. With a woman. 

It made him happy for her. 

It made him proud of her.

And, yes, it made him question his sanity, because they were both incredibly attractive women and they were all over each other and he was only human. It made him feel guilty because they were his friends, and he definitely needed it to stop.

Now. 

Before they completely forget where they are.

"Gail—," he stuttered a bit, trying to get her attention.

But she just waved him off and closed her eyes.

"Gail," he said more forcefully.

This time she flipped him off, but still, she continued to kiss her girlfriend. A deep, deep kiss. One with lots and lots of tongue. He could see the movement of their tongues, caressing and stroking and dancing intimately between their joined lips.

Dov laughed at his predicament, his arm curled around Chloe’s shoulder.

"Dude, you’re gonna have to try harder than that, she’s barely let go of the Doc since they made up last week. Count yourself lucky that you’ve moved out. Last night they stayed at our place and I don’t think anyone in the building slept."

They heard a moan from the corner, and saw that Holly had tilted her head back to rest against the wooden back of the booth. Gail was taking advantage of the change, and began to suck against the skin of the doctor’s neck before moving back up to kiss Holly’s lips again, slipping her tongue inside the doctor’s mouth. 

"I know this is bad," Chris whispered to his former roommate, "but I can’t stop looking."

"Yeah," Dov answered, "I know what you mean. But Chloe came up with a great hack. You know that trick for public speaking? Imagining everybody in their underwear?"

Chris nodded. “Yeah, but Dov, that’s kind of the opposite of the problem.”

The floppy-haired officer chuckled. 

"True. How about this, you know how your mom always said that if you made a stupid face for long enough it would stick that way? Just imagine that that’s true …"

"Okay," Chris said, a little hesitatingly. 

But Dov continued. “And them trying to untangle their tongues.”

Chris thought about it for a minute.

_Yeah_ , he thought to himself, _that is pretty damn amusing_.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt:_ last dance

"Dancing," Gail repeats, not quite sure she’d heard the crazy woman correctly.

But Holly just nods energetically.

"Absolutely," she says, "there’s this place down the street that my friend Rachel told me about. I figure, I’m here, I’m off tomorrow, all the important wedding rituals are over, why not take advantage of the night?"

And this woman had called her insane just a few minutes ago, Gail thinks and shakes her head to clear the sleepy cobwebs that always came from drinking good champagne. Holly is flat out certifiable. What kind of person kisses an almost-stranger wearing a stolen fur coat on the floor of a coat room at a wedding?

A loony, that’s who.

Gail chuckles at the word. Loony, she whispers to herself a couple of times. She likes the way it sounds on her tongue; it’s one of those words sounds like what it means.

"Loony, loony, loony," she says, a little louder, and giggles, conveniently drowning out the voice on the back of her head that is busy wondering what you’d call a person who asked someone who was basically a stranger to her boss’s wedding.

"Oh, boy," Holly smiles and kneels down in front of the officer, "I expected a Peck to have a stronger tolerance for alcohol."

She takes Gail’s face by the chin and stares straight into those clear blue eyes. Eyes that remind her of the color of the sky in mid-June, bright and piercing. Brimming with a thousand summer promises, dreams of joy and freedom and nights spent laying out in the grass and watching the stars take up their seats in the sky.

"It’s the bubbles," Gail answers, trying to figure out why the champagne had started fizzing in her belly again at the other woman’s touch, "they always go straight to my head."

But Holly doesn’t respond right away, so intently was she staring into the blonde’s eyes.

"You, officer, are intoxicated," the doctor says matter-of-fairly. "I should see if someone can take you home."

She is, Gail knows, drunk. Just enough to make her thoughts blurry around the edges and her limbs feel like they were swimming against a strong current.

But she wasn’t drunk enough not to know what had happened. Not to remember the feel of soft lips on her own. Not to wonder at how normal it felt—surprising, unexpected, but normal.

"You kissed me," she says, looking up into the doctor’s safe eyes.

A look crossesHolly’s face, too fast for Gail to understand in the moment. It was sadness, maybe, or regret? It makes her feel something similar in response, nothing should make Holly feel sad. She’s too beautiful, too good, too—

Gail realizes in a breath that she’s gotten lost in thought, and that Holly is still looking down at her.

"Yeah," the brunette whispers, "I’m sorry about that. You just wouldn’t stop talking."

When she wakes tomorrow, Gail will think back to this half-remembered moment and wonder if she’s missed something. Wonder at why that simple explanation, that innocent explanation, could make her feel so empty, like that suspended moment when your stomach seems to drop out from under you, like she’s falling and can’t remember when she leapt. She’ll wonder for days, ask herself why something so strange could feel so normal, why she thinks about it in those precious, golden moments between sleeping and waking. Why she sees Holly’s face, Holly’s lips, in her dreams.

But now she just nods, a little sad and unsure why. Because kissing someone to shut them up makes absolute sense in this hidden moment.

This hidden, magic moment.

"There’s music here," she points out, "we can dance here."

And Holly smiles down at her.

"You said you were done with all those monkeys out there after the skinny officer and the talker made you spill your drink on your shoes."

Gail remembers now. Idiots. But she’s not ready to let Holly go, so she pulls on the doctor’s hands, asking for help up.

"No, nerd," she says, "here. Where those idiots won’t bother us."

Holly pulls the officer to her feet and wraps an arm around her slim, sequined waist, not sure if the blonde can stand on her own at this point. She needn’t have worried, though. When she takes a step back, puts some space between their bodies, Gail is standing steadily.

They start to dance, but it’s different than before, different than the casual movements of bodies just sharing a space and a song for a short period of time. No, this is deliberate, this is coordinated.

When Gail sways, Holly follows.

When Holly turns, Gail lets herself be led.

This is a joining, a becoming.

This is different than anything Gail’s ever experienced before, the way she can feel their hearts and breaths mark time as one.

"Well, this is a first dance I won’t ever forget," Holly jokes, breath whispering against Gail’s cheek, "in a coatroom with a woman dressed in stolen fur."

But Gail is silent.

Because this doesn’t feel like a first dance.

No, this is a last dance. The kind that marks goodbyes and farewells. The kind that signals the end of an era, the conclusion of everything she’d thought she’d known about the world, about her place in it, about herself.

No, this isn’t a first dance.

No.

This is the last one. One last hurrah to the woman she’s always thought she was.

This is Gail Peck’s last dance.

This is the first of her ever after.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : fever

Holly coughed again and groaned. 

She _was not_ getting sick. 

She _could not_ be sick. 

They had _plans_.

Gail was on a red eye from Toronto to San Francisco right now. Her flight would be landing in a couple of minutes, it’s scheduled for 03:27 and the arrivals board says it’s on time.

It’ll be the first time they’ve been together, in person, in five months and Gail was very clear about the fact that she was traveling light.

"Just the clothes on my back when I fly in, Holly," she’d said, "it’s not like I’ll be wearing anything once I get there." 

Hearing her lover’s voice, the husky tone it took on when Gail was aroused, when Gail was trying to arouse and seduce and please, Holly had gotten goosebumps. Hearing Gail’s voice, seeing Gail’s image through her computer screen, her tablet, just wasn’t enough any more. She’d been in San Francisco for almost eighteen months now, living in a tiny one-bedroom apartment just off of one of the city’s artsier neighborhoods. She’d made a few friends: her neighbor Jonas, wasn’t so much a friend as the guy whose cat she watched whenever work sent him out of town; her department head at the university, who organized twice-monthly drinks with the rest of the teaching staff; and Ernie, the janitor who often stumbled across her working late in her lab or correcting papers in her office.

Okay, she’d made actual friends too. Lena and Erin and Mischka, a librarian and an artist and the tiny Russian man who saved her a seat every Sunday morning at the popular coffee shop on the corner. They were good friends. They got together for lunches and went out to clubs together. 

But the longer it had been since she’d been able to really talk to Gail, to touch her skin and smell the rosemary-minty scent of her shampoo, to feel her warmth tucked against her body in bed? The more antsy Holly felt, the less satisfied with quiz night at the bar and weekend crossword competitions with her co-lab director Dontell she was. 

And it wasn’t just social frustration, no. 

There was a lot of sexual frustration too. 

The first weeks after she and Gail parted were usually okay. They were usually able to take a long weekend, maybe a whole week to be together. If Holly was in Toronto, maybe Gail would have to work a shift or two, but Oliver was pretty good about only scheduling her for the desk when he knew the doc was in town. And if Gail was in California, Holly had likely already pre-loaded her weeks before in order to free up time, enough so that she’d only have to teach her classes. The rest of her time, that was devoted to the blonde in her bed.

Last time Gail had flew out to be with her, by the time she dropped the blonde off at the airport, by the time she’d kissed Gail goodbye, they’d spent more time naked than clothed. They’d had sex on every flat surface of her apartment, her car, more than one restaurant restroom, and once, in the handicap stall of the Monterey aquarium. The situation was pretty much the same in Toronto—they were very familiar with the bathroom at the Penny, and the old tiny women’s locker room at the precinct, and Gail’s childhood bedroom, and, yes, the laundry room in Gail’s apartment building. Their friends, on both sides of the continent, laughed at them a little, but Holly had seen the warm amusement in Steve’s eyes, the softly happy grin that Nick had that time he’d walked past Gail’s fogged up car. 

But it wasn’t all sex when they visited each other. They spent a lot of time just wrapped up in each other, curled into each other on the couch watching some movie they’d saved for when they were together. Or holding hands as they walked down the street, or sat at a table when they went out with friends. There was a lot of chaste, gentle touches—Holly brushing the hair out of Gail’s eyes, Gail with her hand on the small of Holly’s back. Holly would wake up before the police officer more often than not, and so she spent a lot of time watching Gail as she slept, in awe of how peaceful and innocent her love looked when sleep held her in its loving arms.

Still, when they were apart they could talk about anything and everything. They could tell each other about their days, about their dreams and fears and desires. It was the physicality of their relationship that they couldn’t recreate. 

It was that part that Holly was particularly craving. Five months was a long time. The longest they’d been apart since the move. They’d been able to see each other about once every other month so far. Except this last time when Gail had been sent on an undercover op that lasted a few weeks, and then the next time, Holly’d been asked to speak at a conference in Switzerland. 

So it had been five months. Five months since she’d kissed Gail. Five months since she’d felt Gail’s hands on her skin, Gail’s lips, Gail’s tongue.

"Don’t get me wrong," Holly thought to herself, "long-distance sex is hot and fun." And so it was. At first.

But the longer they’re apart the harder it became. The less exciting, the less forbidden. 

When phone sex lost its thrill they started to take and send pictures to each other, all with varying degrees of nudity. Holly’s personal laptop had a very special folder named 8727 now; she was going to name it Home, but that was the folder where she stored pictures of everything else she’d left behind in Toronto.

Then they’d done the mutual masturbation thing via Skype. And that had its positives—being able to see and hear each other at the same time—but also its negatives—being reminded very distinctly about the things you were missing. 

One time Gail had even recorded a video of herself, in the bed she’d freed from Holly’s storage unit when she moved out of the frat house. And that had been an evening Holly wouldn’t soon forget. She’d sat on her bed, clothed in nothing but her bra and panties, and watched as Gail touched herself, as Gail’s hands traced lines Holly’s fingers ached to follow. She’d watched Gail tease and tease and tease, until she’d been panting from her own ministrations, and then, her throat dry and her own body buzzing with arousal, she’d watched as Gail used the dildo—thick and red—on herself. They one they’d bought together the last time the doctor had been in Canada.

She’d watched Gail arch her back as she slid the toy slowly, slowly inside. Watched her girlfriend play with her clit, watched her roll the hard nub between her fingers, stroke it, circle the tip ever so softly in the way that always made her pant with desire. She’d watched, hands clenched, as Gail thrust the thick shaft in, held her breath as the blonde slowly pulled it back out. Watched the cycle repeat, faster and faster, harder and harder, until Gail closed her eyes and bit her lip, until she was crying out on-screen. Until Gail collapsed back onto the pillows behind her, breath ragged, and Holly leaned forward to kiss those swollen lips, so lost in the vision of her lover she’d forgotten it wasn’t real. 

That had been last week. 

And despite the fact that she’d grown so wet watching, she’d had to change her panties. 

Despite the fact that just watching had her nipples and clit so hard the was afraid the slightest movement of anything against them might end her.

Despite the fact that she could almost taste the blood on Gail’s lips, could definitely smell the scent of arousal in the air, she couldn’t bring herself to reciprocate. Not for Gail. Not for herself. 

She couldn’t bring herself to touch her breasts, her clit, to slide her fingers deep, deep home and fuck herself until she, too, cried out in ecstasy. She just couldn’t. The pain of missing Gail was too much. 

So she decided to wait, to wait until the weekend when Gail was scheduled to fly in. 

And she did. 

Despite the emails from Gail detailing exactly, exactly when the blonde wanted to do to her. Because, of course, she’d told Gail her decision and then the mischievous blonde became determined to see if she could inspire Holly to break her own vow.

Despite waking up more than once from an incredibly hot dream to find herself on her stomach, thrusting her hips into the bed, or on her back, her hands in her underwear and fingers slipping against her wet, wet sex. 

Somehow, she managed.

And now? 

Now she’s incredibly horny.

And hot. 

But that’s from the fever she’s running, and not the thought of her girlfriend.

Some terrible noise that’s half-cough and half-sneeze wracks through her body, and she moans pitifully.

"Dammit," Holly mutters, "I want to have sex today."

She’s not sure if the older woman next to her moves because of the germs or the sex thing, but either way, it’s probably a safe move. 

She feels miserable. Her nose is running, her eyes are watering. She’s not sure if the fogginess in her head is due to the congestion or the constant state of arousal she’s been in for the past several days. It hurts to breathe—it hurts to move. 

And the worst part? All she wants to do is curl up into bed with Gail, but she’s not entirely sure whether she wants sex more or Gail’s body heat to stave off the chills that keep running up and down her body. 

Finally, finally she sees that bobbing blonde head of hair. And no matter how terrible she feels, Holly has to laugh. Because true to her earlier claim, Gail has no luggage. Just a carry-on that probably has more Cheesepuffs than underwear in it. Oh, well. Gail’s shared her clothes before, they’ll manage.

"Jesus, Lunchbox," Gail says, and Holly almost weeps at the sound of her voice, "you look terrible. Was there another Ebola outbreak? Should we call Dustin Hoffman?"

The old woman glares at Gail—“Ebola” is almost more taboo than “bomb” in airports these days, even now that the outbreak has been contained and no new cases have been reported in almost ten months—and Gail sticks her tongue out in response. 

Now she does weep. Because everything is terrible and perfect at the same time. She’s obviously sick now, even she can’t deny it anymore, but Gail’s here, Gail’s wrapping her up into a tight, warm hug, and nothing, nothing is better that.

~ * ~

"Hey, hey, Hol, you’re burning up—give me your keys, let’s get you into bed." 

The blonde doesn’t wait for you to hand them over, just shoves her hands into the pockets of your jeans and digs until she finds them. The old biddy actually scoffs at the two of you, and you feel so shitty that you take a page from Gail’s book and flip her off.

You’d actually prefer to forget the car ride home, but you’re pretty sure that Gail will use it against you at some point. You dozed off here and there, but at some point during the trip you reached that irrational, angry, sad, frustrated, “feeling sorry for yourself” stage of being sick and when Gail asked you what was wrong you started crying about how _all you’d wanted was to have sex with her because fuck, you need to come, and now you’re sick and you can’t because everything hurts and everything’s so hot and she’s so hot but you don’t want her to get hotter by getting her sick too and everything is ruined now._

Yeah, it didn’t make any sense and you’re embarrassed when she tells you about it later, but you have to admit, she’s very patient and calm with you. Gail puts her hand on your thigh and you can feel the heat of it through your jeans, and she talks gently to you about how nothing is ruined, how you have two full weeks together. 

When you get back to your apartment, she helps you up into the bathroom and the two of you take a quick, warm shower. Gail washes away the scent of recycled air and carefully, softly washes your body. She’s so gentle with you, and you love her so much. So you tell her as you hang onto her for support.

And then she leads you back into the bedroom, and slips your big, soft nightgown over your head. She’d laughed the very first time she saw you sleep in it, but she’d grown to appreciate the easy access eventually. More than once you’d woken to her head between your legs, hidden under the bottom of your nightgown. 

Now, she sits you on the bed, pulls the fabric over your head and then gestures for you to lay back, half-propped up on the pillows she’s arranged behind you. For a moment, you think she’s going to lay down with you, but after she pulls on her own pajamas, she climbs onto the bed and settles at your feet. 

Suddenly you’re so tired you wonder how you’ve even made it through the day. And the medicine she poured down your throat, and the pills she pressed into your hand and insisted you take are all starting to kick in. You’re just so glad she’s here. Even like this, even with you feeling like this. You’re glad.

"I love you," she says, and moves closer.

"I love you," she says as she gently taps your knee, a signal you’re well and familiar with. 

"I’m sick," you tell her, and she lays her warm hand on your thigh. It feels so good, the heat. A healthy heat, a healing heat.

She starts to slide the fabric of the nightgown up, up to gather at your hips, and lifts your legs so they’re bent, plants your feet on the bed. 

"I know," she answers back, and you can hear the love and the smile in her voice, "but I’m going to help make you feel a little better, okay?"

She’s always so careful with you, so careful to ask, to wait, to listen. You hope you do the same for her. 

You nod. 

Gail takes your hands and locks your fingers together, and places your joined hands at your hips, anchoring the two of you to the bed.

She begins so softly you almost miss it, the feel of her tongue gently stroking against your clit. But slowly, she increases the pressure, though not the speed. The care she takes with you, the deliberate delicacy. Your Gail, she holds you so tenderly, as if you’re made of glass.

The heat that’s building now is a different kind, different than the fever, different than the embarrassment, different than the arousal, even. It’s so precious, so pure. All Gail’s doing is lapping, licking, loving at your clit and it’s the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt, the most holy you’ve ever felt. Like she’s worshiping at your altar, like she’s praying to your body, to your heart and your soul.

When you come, you clench hands tight with hers, and moan softly. You can feel the waves of pleasure spread out from your sex, and though the scientist and doctor in you could name the chemicals and hormones being released into your blood stream by your orgasm, there’s a deeper, rawer part of you that knows it’s pure love. Gail’s love for you, your love for her.

After she’s cleaned you up, just as gently and delicately as she made love to you, she slowly pulls down your nightgown again and moves to fit her body against yours, pulling the blanket up as she spoons you from behind.

"I love you," she says again.

You’d respond, but you’re already drifting off into sweet dreams of her.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : tactile
> 
> Ace!Holly

What you told Izzy was true all those weeks ago was true. You and Holly had never “boned,” as Oliver’s delinquent daughter had put it. You hadn’t had sex of any kind with the doctor.

Not then, and not now.

The thing, the thing that you didn’t tell Junior Shaw because it wasn’t just your thing to tell, is that you and Holly had never had sex. And you’re honestly not sure if you ever will.

No, not because of the break-up, you’d made up within days of Holly kissing you in the observation room.

And no, not because of San Francisco. Because Holly had talked the lab there into letting her work through the duration of her 12 month contract remotely. They’d ship samples to her, she’d do her science stiff with them, and then once or twice a month she’d have to fly to California. The trade off was that she lost a chunk of the salary they’d offered, but she was still working at the medical examiner’s office as well, so it pretty much evened out. It was going to be a stressful year, but you’d be together for it. So you both were happy.

No, the sex thing wasn’t based on either of those factors.

Instead, it was based on Holly.

You hadn’t understood completely when Holly had explained, but after talking it through and looking at some websites the brunette had pointed out, you had a better idea of what Hol was trying to say.

She was asexual. She didn’t experience sexual attraction like other people did. It didn’t mean that she didn’t have sex—she did. But it was a biological thing, not a desire thing. 

Holly’d told you early in your explorations together, wanting to give you a chance to step away if you couldn’t do it, be in a relationship with someone who was asexual. And, admittedly, at first you weren’t sure you could. You liked sex. You really did. It had been the basis of most of your previous relationships, really.

But the more the two of you talked, the more you took the time to communicate and understand each other, the more convinced you became that you could do this. Be in a relationship with a woman. Be in a relationship where sex and sexual attraction weren’t the strongest connections, the primary motivations for being together.

Because already your relationship was so much more, your connection so strong. And it had nothing to do with physical or sexual attraction.

It had everything to do with the way Holly made you feel—loved, cherished, safe. It has everything to do with the fact that just sitting on the couch watching tv, or even going to the batting cages and being laughed at as you struck out time after time were some of the best nights of your life.

It was more than friendship, because you’d had friends before and didn’t want to kiss them, didn’t want to go to sleep held in their arms and wake up to watch the sun rise with them.

Yes, you’d had questions.

How could Holly be asexual and still kiss you like she had in that tub? How could she call herself a lesbian even if she didn’t feel sexual attraction to anyone?

And that’s when you’d learned the difference between asexual and aromantic.

How could she like sex, enjoy the release of orgasm, and not consider herself sexual?

And that’s when you learned that when she needed release, Holly preferred masturbation to sex, preferred extended foreplay sessions and then to bring herself to climax while her partner did the same. You learned that she liked to give oral sex but didn’t like to receive it. She liked the sensual over the sexual, she’d told you.

But in the end, there was only one question that you needed answered. Did Holly want to do this, have a relationship with you?

You already knew what your answer was.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

She’d felt the same.

And now, six months after the temporary break-up, the two of you are in a healthy, stable relationship. When you come home from work, she’s there waiting for you. When she’s on-call and gets a phone call in the middle of the night, you get up and make coffee while she showers.

When you’ve had a hard day, she draws you a bath and drags a washcloth slowly and lovingly over your body, uses her hands to knead out knots in your shoulders and back. And it’s not sexual, it’s meant to soothe and not seduce. And you love it, because with every touch of her hand, every brush of her lips against yours, you feel safe, and loved.

One weekend when she was in San Francisco you’d signed up for a basic massage class, wanting to be able to do the same for her, to soothe and ease and love. And when she got home, when she followed the trail of rose petals up to the stairs, you were waiting for her upstairs in the bedroom, wearing your comfiest flannel pajama pants and a sports bra in a room lit only by candles. You’d laid out a towel on the bed, and lined up your oils on the bedside table.

You’d told her to go and wash up, shower, while you opened a bottle of her favorite wine.

And then when she came back, you’d had her lay down on the bed, and put your new skills to work, pulling out the tension of traveling from the base of her spine, the frustration of hotel rooms from her shoulders and neck. You felt her body slowly relax as you loved the aches and pains right out of her.

When you were done, after you’d gently tucked her tired limbs under the covers and begun to blow out the candles, you heard her speak.

"I love you, Gail."

You turn back to the bed and sit in the edge, looking into her warm brown eyes, lids drooping more and more with each slow breath.

"I know," you say and lean over to kiss her forehead.

You watch her slip into sleep, and just before she slips under, you kiss her forehead again.

"I love you too, Hol."


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : shooting star

She was drunk, she knew it. She could feel the hot burn of tequila in her throat, felt it warm her from the inside out, heat spilling out into her fingertips, her toes. It was the kind of ache that hurt so bad it felt good. It was the kind of pain she deserved, the kind of pain she sought out. A reminder to herself that all good things end, all pedestals wobble, all sins are punished.

She couldn’t even feel the cold anymore. She’d been freezing at first, up here on the roof of the precinct at midnight in early March. But now, empty bottle next to her, she felt nothing. Nothing beyond the burn.

She’d wrecked things again. She’d slipped back into all her old behaviors at the first signs of trouble.

She’d run. Everything inside her screamed at her to stay, but what could she do?

Gail Peck was born to be a runner.

Nick had called her a shooting star once. Hot and burning bright on the surface, but cold as ice inside, trailing all her baggage behind her.

It had been during an argument, and he’d apologized after, but Gail knew that he was right. He was always right about her.

She took another swig from the bottle, forgetting it was empty as she lay back on the cold, hard concrete of the roof and looked up at the stars above. So beautiful, so pretty. But so untouchable. If you held one in your hand, she wondered, if you could reach out and grab one, would it burn you or melt in your hand?

Maybe neither, she thought.

Maybe it would just unfix itself from its home in the sky and run away, bright tail trailing in its wake.

Maybe that’s how shooting stars are born.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : bite

Holly unwound her scarf and draped it over one of the hooks on the coat hanger hidden behind her office door. But before she turned to go to her desk, she caught her reflection in the mirror and grimaced.

"Dammit, Gail," she whispered angrily. The hickey was most definitely not hidden by the collar of her shirt. It was red and brown and ugly looking. And even as she closed her eyes in memory of the pleasurable moment when Gail had marked her so powerfully, she frowned and reached for the phone in her pocket.

// You are in so much trouble, Peck. //

It only took a few minutes for the officer to reply.

\ You can’t have been THAT late, Lunchbox. I’m sure Rocky or whatever your assistant responds to these days held down the fort. \

Holly rolled her eyes. She had only been a few minutes late and there was nothing pressing on her plate so far this morning. But that was so not the point.

// Stop calling him Rocky. And that’s not the point. You gave me a hickey. //

She must have been in the shower, because it took longer for her to reply this time.

\ You like it when I leave a mark. \

Also not the point, though Holly had to concede that it was true. She did like it when Gail marked her, branded her, laid claim to her. It made her feel powerful, strong. To know that she’d driven her partner, her lover, to such a loss of control.

// Not when other people can see it, Gail! //

\ I didn’t — shit, your neck? \

The doctor signed into her email, looking over the most pressing issues of the day.

// Yes. //

\ Hol, baby, I didn’t realize. I’m sorry. \

It wasn’t really her fault, Holly knew that. Actually, she’d attacked the blonde in the stairs on her way off to work as Gail got in after a night’s work.

She’d pushed Gail against the wall, enjoying the way the stairs put the officer just a little higher than usual. It would work well for what she had in mind.

It hadn’t taken long to shimmy Gail’s jeans down her legs, letting them come to rest around her ankles. With just a thin pair of panties between the thick denim of her own jeans and Gail’s growing wetness, Holly’d begun to thrust in a delectably slow and deliberate manner. And then, after kissing Gail hard and letting her tongue taste inside the blonde’s mouth, she pulled her head back and brought her fingers up to her girlfriend’s mouth. Gail’d sucked the two digits into her mouth expertly, and wrapped her tongue around them, letting Holly feel how eager she was from the way she licked and sucked all along the shaft of the brunette’s pointer and index fingers.

And then, then Holly withdrew her finger from Gail’s lips and slipped into her burning wetness below. And with her other hand, Holly played with the familiar shapes of Gail’s soft breasts, her firm ass.

The doctor was relentless in driving Gail up and over the peak, thrusting hard and deep and absolutely unforgiving as she used the weight and force of her thigh to drive her thrusts home. In moments, Gail was trembling against her, and dropping her head down into Holly’s shoulder, unable to support its weight anymore on her own. Instead, she began to kiss open mouthed against Holly’s neck, leaving a wet trail that marked the path her teeth and tongue had taken.

And when Holly felt Gail attempt to pull away just the slightest, the feel of Holly’s fingers in her, against her almost too much to bear. But Holly held her close, refused to let Gail shy away from the peak she was quickly approaching.

When she felt the officer’s internal muscles begin to clench and release, begin to hold her tighter deep within the blonde’s body, she began to thrust even more forcefully, curling her finger deep within Gail as she did. The dual stimulation of her G spot and her clit proved too much for the other woman, and with a cry muffled by Holly’s own body, she came, biting down hard on the flesh beneath her as she did.

Biting down hard on Holly’s neck, that is.

Looking at the spot now, they’re quite lucky no blood was drawn.

And it’s unfortunately very obviously a bite mark, and not something she can get away with claiming as a curling iron burn or something like that.

But she hadn’t had time to look before she’d left. She’d barely had time to swap jeans—hers were no longer appropriate for work after their encounter—with her panting, half-collapsed girlfriend before she’d had to run off. She’d made a motion to help Gail up and into the main area of the house, but the blonde had waved her off, telling her to “get your cute ass to work before I work up the energy to return the favor.”

Holly had laughed and blown Gail a kiss before heading into the garage and pulling out of the drive.

// It’s okay. I’ll live. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to stay in my office all day. Get some sleep, baby. I’ll check on you when I get home. Love you. //

She knows Gail isn’t in bed yet—she always needs some time to cool down after working the night shift—and isn’t surprised when a reply comes back instantly.

\ Wake me up and I’ll pay you back for this morning. Back atcha, Lunchbox. \

Holly smiled at her phone, and got set to dig into a backlog of reports she wanted to work on today while things were quiet.

Of course, quiet days never stay that way. A few hours later she was called out to a scene on the south side of town.

"Hey, doc, we’ve got a—wow, nice hickey. Nice job little sister."

With Steve.

It was going to be a long day.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : can you hear me

Holly knows she shouldn’t laugh. She really, really shouldn’t. But the whole thing is ridiculous.

She’s been called to pick Gail up from the hospital once again. If she were the type to keep count, this would be the fourth time since they’d met at that crime scene three and a half years ago. Five if you count the night of drunken hair-cutting, but Holly doesn’t. She only counts the times when Gail got her own official hospital bracelet. 

There was the chemical burn and the time she broke her ankle chasing after a man suspected (and later convicted) of breaking into his ex-wife’s home. Then there was the stabbing, with the perforated bowel and the sepsis and the three days of anxiously waiting in the ICU until the antibiotics managed to get the upper-hand over the infection. 

Thankfully, this time, it’s nothing too serious. 

Gail’s sitting on a gurney talking to whatever poor ER intern has been assigned to her. 

No, not talking.

Yelling.

Shouting.

At just about the top of her lungs.

Holly’s heard the story already from Chris, or kind of, because he wouldn’t stop apologizing as he tried to explain. And then Chloe, who actually was able to tell her what had happened. 

Apparently they’d answered a call about kids setting fireworks in the parking lot of an old, long-closed factory. She’d chased one of the kids into a metal storage container, and according to Chloe, he’d thought lighting a firecracker and throwing it at a cop was a good idea.

It hadn’t been. He’d ended up burning his hand, and the both of them were currently suffering from noise-induced hearing loss at the moment, the small metal container just acting as an amplifier around them. 

Which explains the shouting. 

"I SAID I CAN’T HEAR," Holly hears Gail tell the terrified intern, "WHY ARE YOU TAKING MY TEMPERATURE?" 

"I should get back to Gail before she starts threatening the poor boy," Holly muses and turns back to Chloe, "so can you tell Oliver that her eardrums are only stunned, not burst, and that her hearing should return in a few days? She’ll probably need about a week off, maybe a little more if there are any residual side effects."

Chloe nods and smiles happily, “Absolutely. I’ll tell everyone she’s okay.”

And as Holly begins to cross the room back to Gail’s cubicle, she laughs to herself, remembering something her girlfriend had told her once, something about always imagining talking birds circling the perpetually perky officer’s head whenever she spoke.

Holly can see what she meant.

"I SWEAR TO GOD, DOUGIE HOUSER, MY GIRLFRIEND IS A DOCTOR AND A FORENSIC GENIUS, SO IF YOU WANT ANYONE TO EVER FIND YOUR BODY AFTER SHE—"

Whoops, and there’s her cue.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : throne

So, it turns out that the hardest part about being on opposite sides of a continent, in different countries, wasn’t the communication or the intimacy or the sex. 

No.

It was fucking _Game of Thrones._

See, they’d started watching together early in their friendship, Holly convincing Gail to sit down and watch the fantasy series with promises of blood and violence and sex. 

Television sex, of course, they weren’t at that point in their relationship yet. Not at first. 

No, that came later.

So, yes, a bottle of tequila at her side, a big bowl of cheese puffs, and the warmth of Holly’s thigh against hers, Gail Peck had watched an episode of _Game of Thrones._

And she’d loved it. 

Holly was forbidden to say anything to anyone, of course; and it’s not like Gail was going to cop to enjoying a show she’d dubbed _Game of Dorks_ when Chris and Dov and Chloe had marathoned episodes of it last year. But she really, really did enjoy it. 

That one episode in the first season? She’d cried and tried to explain the tears away as just another way her body processed alcohol. And Holly, saintly Holly had let her pretend. She hadn’t said a word when Gail made them wait half a month until she was ready for Holly to pull out her blu-rays to watch the second season.

By the time they started season three they were dating steadily, and watching an episode usually ended with Holly laughing, pressed against the soft cushions of the couch by Gail’s body as the officer on top kissed her way down the doctor’s body, before arriving at her breasts. The very breasts she’d dubbed “My Sun” (the left one) and “My Stars” (the right one).

This, too, Holly was sworn to secrecy about. But it wasn’t a hardship. Who would have believed her anyway?

And that season three episode? _That_ episode? At that point in their relationship, Holly had never seen Gail so mad. Not even that time that Steve had walked in on them in an interrogation room and snapped a picture with his phone before they’d managed to untangle from each other. 

The fourth season came out while they were broken up, and it had been too painful for either of them to watch without the other. So when they got back together, two weeks before Holly left for San Francisco, they’d spent almost the entire time together at Holly’s place, Oliver and his big heart having let Gail take the time off to spend with her girlfriend. 

In between the packing and the talking and the sex, they’d found time to watch all ten episodes. 

And when they’d parted at the airport, when Gail had pulled her close for one last kiss, she’d whispered “Goodbye my sun and stars” so quietly that Holly had almost missed it. 

But she hadn’t, she’d heard it. And this time, Holly knew, Gail wasn’t talking about her breasts. 

Since then, with a few trips here and there, they’ve been doing okay. Gail visits her in San Francisco, Holly visits Toronto when she can get away from the lab. And everything between them, for the most part, is wonderful.

Except for this damned show. Now that season five is airing they’re facing the first true test of their long-distance relationship. 

Because they promised each other they wouldn’t watch until they could watch it all together. Just like before.

And Holly has never once in her life been tempted to cheat on a partner, but this? This television show? Waiting to find out what happens to Jon Snow and Daenerys and Sansa and Tyrion? And every other character on the damned show? 

This has her closer to cheating than she’s ever been before.

And it’s just a fucking television show.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : weight of the world

This was the part of his job that he hated.

He pulled off his scrub cap and wadded it up into his hands, making a fist around the wet, sweaty fabric.

He wished he could change out of his surgical scrubs, but he knew from experience that he couldn’t. That as hard as it was to see their loved one’s blood all over the robin’s egg blue of the sterile material, if he came out in clean scrubs the families would be left wondering if enough was done, if the team had tried hard enough, had done everything possible to save the patient. 

The patient. How terrible a word. How distant and unfeeling a thought. Just a patient. Just another body on a gurney, just another broken stranger for him to put back together. 

He was taught to think of them that way. To think of them as nobodies. And cases and injuries and subjects. 

Not as people. 

Not as mothers and daughters, brothers and sons. 

Not until moments like this one, not until there was nothing left to save, nothing left to try or do. 

No miracles to pray for.

It was ironic, he always thought as he walked the long, quiet hallway between the operating theatre and the waiting room. As a doctor he had been taught to think of his patients as human beings only after they were already dead.

Only after everything that made them human—their spirit, their soul, their loves and hopes and dreams, the fire burning in their eyes—had faded away, disappearing along with the warmth of their skin.

He’s close enough to the wide doors now to see the family through the glass windows, huddled together. As if they hope the power of their combined prayers will move some greater power’s will to intervene. 

He won’t have to ask who to talk to, he never does. He knows who to go to immediately, he sees it in the set of their shoulders. The curve of their spine. 

They know, they always know. 

It doesn’t make it any easier.

He pushes open the doors and crosses the threshold, watching as the woman in the center stands up, watching as a thousand questions, a thousand emotions cross her beautiful, tragic face. 

He doesn’t have the answers she’s looking for. 

"I’m sorry," he says, answering the one question she cannot ask.

He’s carried this burden just a short while, just a few steps. 

She’ll carry it for the rest of her life. 

To everyone else, he knows, she’ll look just the same. 

But already he can see it. The way the weight has settled onto her back, the way she’s cradling it between her shoulder blades. This new world. This heavy sphere of loss and grief.

This is the part of his job that he hates, creating Atlases.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : under the influence

Andy and her new rookie were first on the scene of the accident. She sent Ben to assess the condition of the driver in the large white van while she checked to see how everyone in the small blue Prius was doing. 

She stepped around the broken glass of the driver’s side windows and saw a dark head hunched over the airbag.

"Lubinski," she shouted back, looking over her shoulder as she kicked glass away from the area in front of the door, "status of the other driver?"

The tall blonde kid was in the middle of administering a breathalyzer to the large, heavy-set woman leaning up against the side of the vehicle. She could tell from the excited tension in the kid’s body language that he was anticipating the opportunity to make his first arrest this morning. 

She yanked on the driver’s side door of the Prius to no avail. 

"No visible injuries, says she knocked her head against the window, BAC is point 22," he shouted back. 

Andy hurried over to the other side of the car. “Okay, cuff her, read her her rights, and stick her in the squad. Radio it in and tell dispatch that we’ll be taking her to the hospital as soon as the EMTs transport the second driver. We’ll need a second unit here to secure and manage the scene.”

She didn’t bother to wait for his assent; he was a good officer, he’d do what she told him.

The passenger door was much easier to open, and Andy slipped into the seat and immediately moved to check the woman’s pulse.

Steady, good. 

"Ma’am," she said, "I don’t know if you can hear me, but my name is Andy McNally. I’m a police officer. You’ve been in a car accident. Emergency services are on their way. I’m just going to look for your ID, okay?"

Andy brushed the curtain of dark hair away from the woman’s face, careful not to move her head.

"Oh, fuck. Holly." she whispered.

"Ben—BEN," she shouted, quickly exiting the vehicle and , "ETA on that bus?" She pulled out the big first aid kit from the trunk of the squad and then rushed back to the Prius.

"Under five," he answered immediately, "need help?"

"No, stay with the suspect," she responded and then slipped back into the car.

"Hey, there, doc," she said to the unconscious woman at the wheel, "long time no see." Andy checked her pulse again—still good. She pulled out some gauze and began to dab at the blood welling in a laceration on the doctor’s arm. 

She could hear the ambulance a block or two away.

"Last I heard," the officer said, keeping up her one-sided conversation as she continued to address Holly’s injuries, "you were in San Francisco. Making a name for yourself in the big American city. Gail’s been so proud of you, you should know. I don’t really think she’s even gotten over you, not really. Does she know you’re visiting? I hope you were planning to meet up with her. She’s never said it, but I know she misses you."

The ambulance pulled up, lights reflecting off the white metal of the suspect’s van. 

"Okay, Holly, the ambulance is here. I didn’t see a purse anywhere, so I’m going to reach into your pockets and look for your wallet, alright? Don’t tell Gail—she hasn’t mentioned the Nick thing in months. I can’t imagine her reaction when she finds out I put my hand in your pocket."

A fresh-faced EMT stuck his head in through the broken window next to Holly. “Status,” he asked.

Andy gave him a quick report of her findings; “36-year-old white female, possible head trauma. Pulse is steady, minor lacerations on her face and arms. I don’t see any other evidence of external trauma. She’s been unconscious since we arrived.” 

He nodded and stepped away for a moment, just as Andy’s fingers grasped the thin wallet in Holly’s back pocket. She pulled it out, trying not to disturb the doctor’s position, and took out the license inside.

"Oh, Holly," she said, seeing the local address on the driver’s license issued late last year by the Ontario province. 

And then the EMT was back with his partner and a gurney. 

"Thanks, officer," he said, "we’ve got this from here."

She scooted out of the car, but not before squeezing at the unconscious doctor’s thigh. 

Outside of the vehicle she saw her rookie pointing something out to one of the lab techs who had come to mark off evidence of what looked to have turned from a simple car accident to a pretty cut-and-dry case of driving under the influence. A third EMT was shining a flashlight into the eyes of their suspect, handcuffed in the back of the squad. 

Andy took a moment to close her eyes and catch her breath before pulling out her cell.

"Hey, Oliver," she said when he answered his phone, "I could use your advice on something."

~ * ~ 

Her mouth was dry. 

Her mouth was dry and her head hurt and the light shining in her eyes was bright, so bright. 

But she was too tired to get up and close the shades, too tired to get up and get a drink of water or something to soothe the painful pounding at her temples. Everything felt heavy, and slow, and all she wanted was to let herself slip back under the sweet blanket of sleep into unconsciousness again. 

When she woke again, she felt like she was on fire. Her head, her chest, her leg. Everything hurt, everything. 

And then nothing hurt. A cool wave swept through her body, slowly banking the burning pain that had paralyzed her. And she felt the whisper of sleep slip under her skin and seduce her once again.

The third time she awoke, things still hurt, but it was nothing like before. She remembered now, being in her car, the white van, the blinding pain. She’d been in a car accident, and now, she realized, she was in the hospital.

Her dream of being tied down was just the IV in her arm. The feeling of being caught in a vise, her leg slowly being crushed? That seemed to correspond to the heavy cast that now enveloped her left leg, from her hip to her toes. 

And her dream of Gail? Of the woman she’d never gotten over? 

Holly looked at the pair of socked feet propped up on the bed near her knees. She followed the shapely legs, clad in a skin-tight pair of jeans, up to the gentle curves of the woman she’d never stopped thinking about, currently wearing a thick purple hooded sweatshirt with the words “Everwood Elementary Mom” emblazoned across the chest as she slept in the recliner next to the bed. 

Apparently that hadn’t been a dream at all. 

She watched Gail breathe, in and out, in and out, for a few minutes, before the need to cough, and the ensuing groan in reaction to the pain that caused, woke up the sleeping blonde.

"Hey," Gail said, "you’re awake—how do you feel, Holly?"

Hearing her voice, that beautiful sound that she’d been deprived of for so long, almost three years, stuns her into a momentary silence. Holly never want her to stop talking, never wants to go that long without hearing the blonde say her name again.

"Hol, can you hear me," she said, a little louder this time, bringing her feet down and sitting up, the concern in her voice clear.

"I love you," Holly said, the words slipping off her tongue before she could catch them, secret them away again.

Gail looked surprised, but quickly recovered.

"That’s just the narcotics talking, Lunchbox," she said with a smile. 

But once the words were out, once she couldn’t take them back, Holly realized she didn’t want to. And it wasn’t the pain. And it wasn’t the drugs. Her body felt light, weightless even, but her mind was all there, her thoughts and feelings were all the same. All the drugs had done was remove the lock that normally kept her from putting them into words. 

It was freeing, the way the oxy made her feel. Like she could say all the things she’d been wanting to say for years. Since they broke up. Maybe since before.

Holly shook her head, grimacing at the way even that small motion set off fireworks along the backs of her eyelids.

"Nope," she said, "I love you."

It was complicated. They’d broken up three years ago. They hadn’t spoken since. Gail had clearly been successful in her adoption of Sophie. She’d moved to San Francisco, completed her two-year stint at the University of San Francisco, and then moved back to Toronto.

But here they were, together. And Holly realized that the love she’d had for Gail, all those feelings? Hadn’t gone away. Would never go away.

And she decided in that moment, in pain and drugged and still, so happy, that she’d make sure Gail knew it, believed it.

It only took three weeks.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : in the storm

It was a few hours later that the chills came. 

And then the shakes.

And she couldn’t get warm, couldn’t stay still. Nothing helped, none of her usual methods of coping with the memories and the flashbacks. 

It was to be expected, really. Days like this one, days full of adrenaline and fear. Days with rain pounding on the windows, on the roof. Days full of knowing that at any moment, everything could be lost. They always end like this. With her sitting on the floor in the middle of her room, every light on, and the comforter from her bed wrapped around her shoulders. 

A half-empty bottle of tequila on the floor next to her.

Or half-full. 

She hadn’t decided yet.

For a while, for a while there had been Holly. And tea, and the feeling of a warm and solid and safe body against her own.

She could have had that tonight. Could have gone home with Holly and talked out the complications that had popped up in the months since they’d broken up. Sophie. San Francisco. The break-up itself. 

But Gail had done what she was good at, and run again. 

She told herself it was for the best. They both had priorities now, priorities beyond each other. She told herself it was for Sophie that she left, for Holly.

The truth?

It was for herself. 

And she knows it.

She pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulder as she takes another drink from the bottle.

Somewhere out in the apartment, a door slams. And she knows that any moment Dov will come knocking to see how she is.

They have a system now, she and him. On the bad nights she leaves an unlit candle on the table, and he knows to be careful. He knows to be loud, knows not to come up behind her or touch her without announcing himself first. He knows to check if she’s breathing when she falls asleep on the floor, knows not to move her to the bed. 

In some ways, she hates it. Hates having to rely on him, hates that he sees her like this, at her weakest.

In some ways, if she can’t have Holly, if she can’t take her comfort from Holly, she’s glad, at least, that Dov cares enough. That he cares enough to make sure she’s okay. 

And there comes the knock.

And the slow opening of the door.

"How bad," he says quietly, deliberately.

"Bad," she says and takes another drink, and he nods, not meeting her eyes. They’d learned the hard way that eye-contact made it worse. 

Except with Holly. Everything was better with Holly.

Dov leaves the door open for a moment while he disappears down the hall to his room, coming back with a small wooden box and the blanket off his own bed. He sits down across from her and begins setting up the board, lining up the pawns.

This, this she can do. She’s always been good at the game, her dad taught her years ago and within a year she’d been beating everyone in the house. Dov is good too, though, and for a while, for a blissful while, she has to focus, focus hard, on the pieces. On the movements. On the next move and the next move and the next. Her entire world shrinks down to those sixty-four squares, those little carved figures.

She’s halfway through explaining what had happened before she realizes it, her lips loosened by the alcohol and the dark and the way she’s concentrating on how best to capture his queen. And the thing is, it feels good. Good to talk about it. Good to talk to Dov, who has somehow in these past few months finally learned how to listen. 

She talks and talks until there are tears on the board and nothing more to say.

"Will you," she starts to ask, words catching in her throat.

But Dov knows. He knows what every broken heart wants, he’s nursing one himself.

He nods and leaves again, a trail of lights following him wherever he goes.

A minute passes, and then he’s back, her boots in his hand and her jacket over his arm. He slips her feet so gently into her shoes, carefully maneuvers her arms into her coat. The way a parent would dress a child just awoken from a nap. 

And then he helps her up, and into the car. The mostly empty bottle forgotten on the floor. 

Holly’s house is dark, all the windows closed and the blinds drawn. But Gail know she’s inside, Gail know she’s still awake. 

Sometimes she feels like she knows everything about her. 

Sometimes she feels like she knows nothing.

Dov helps her up the sidewalk, and Holly must have heard the car pull up because she’s at the door, holding it open with a concerned smile. 

"On the couch," Holly says, quickly turning on all the lamps. 

"You sure," Dov asks, and she nods. 

A few minutes later, the brunette closes and locks the door, and then comes to stand over the officer curled into a ball on her living room couch.

"Was it the bomb-scare," Holly asks, "or the storm?"

But Gail shakes her head. It doesn’t matter. What sparked the attack doesn’t matter. 

All that matters is that she’s here now. And she knows that this is where she’s supposed to be. 

Right now she’s in the middle of a panic attack, swimming against the strong current of her terrible memories, all those feelings of helplessness, of guilt. And she needed the one person in the world who knows how to anchor her down, knows how to keep her safe and guide her back to shore.

Whatever tomorrow brings, whatever the future holds. All those complications that seemed so big and so insurmountable earlier? 

They’ll figure it out. 

They will.

No, it wasn’t the bomb. It wasn’t the kid getting kidnapped or the storm or the dark or the fear. 

No, it wasn’t any of those things.

"It was you," Gail says, "it was the thought of losing you."

Outside the storm still rages. 

But inside?

In Holly’s arms?

Her seas are calm.

They’ll figure it out.

They will.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : at the edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mentions of suicide. (Everyone lives.)

You see the figure of a woman standing at the railing of the bridge as you go about your morning jog through the park. Just another early riser watching as the sun comes up, you think, and continue on your way.

She’s still there on your second pass.

And then your third.

When you come around the bend on your final lap, you see her there still, gripping onto the railing with white, white knuckles. For the first time you look, really look at her.

She’s dressed in a black trench coat, and underneath some kind of black dress or skirt that rests just at the kind of her knees. Her legs are bare, and her shoes have been kicked to the wayside. You see them there, a pair of sexy black slingbacks.

The closer you get, the more concerned you become. You can see that she’s shivering in the early morning light, even though the morning air is relatively pleasant for this time of year. It’s still November, and still pretty cold.

You wonder how long she’s been out here, clutching onto the metal railing, staring down at the river below.

Was there a car in the lot when you jogged through it? A lot of times you’re the only person around, a circumstance that suits you just fine. Your morning runs are about serenity, about getting you mentally and physically and even spiritually ready for the day that awaits. The terrible things you see on a daily basis. It’s the only way you know to keep sane.

Was there a car today? You struggle to remember, the mornings blurring together in your head. Maybe there was, a red two-door? Or maybe that was yesterday.

The woman’s blonde hair is tied back in a messy braid, wisps blowing about in the breeze. And the closer you get the less inconceivable it becomes that she’s been here all night, for hours, just staring numbly into the rushing water below. Her skin is pale, almost translucent, and you can see the thin blue lines of veins in her neck.

"Miss," you announce your approach gently, not wanting to startle her. But she doesn’t respond, doesn’t acknowledge you at all. You wrack your brain, trying to remember the symptoms of hypothermia, checking them off as you step up to her side.

Shivering, check.

Vasoconstriction, check.

Confusion and disorientation, a definite possibility—you aren’t entirely sure she’s even registered your presence at her side.

"Miss," you say again, slowly placing your hand over her wrist to take her pulse.

Her skin is cold and clammy to the touch. Her pulse slow, but steady.

She’s definitely hypothermic, but it’s not severe yet. She needs medical attention as soon as possible though. And possibly a psych consult, because you’ve had more than one body on your table that’s been fished out of the river below. It’s unfortunate, but it’s a frequent method of suicide for those poor souls feeling like all is lost.

You wonder what’s brought this woman to this point today.

She finally reacts to your presence, the feel of your chilled—but warmer than her skin—fingertips on her arm bringing her out of her daze. She jerks her arm back and tilts her head to look at you.

She looks confused, and lost, and sad. So sad.

It breaks your heart.

She’s beautiful.

And her sadness only highlights her beauty. A long forgotten line flits through your head, something about beauty and sadness being being twinned, always in a pair.

Her sadness is beautiful, true, but you can’t imagine that it would hold a candle to her joy, her happiness, her ecstasy.

"Miss," you say for the third time, holding the piercing blue gaze of her eyes, "my name is Holly. I’m a doctor. I believe you might have hypothermia, can you tell me your name?"

She looks at you curiously, like she’s appraising you, like she’s evaluating whether you pose a threat, and again, you wonder what has happened to her, what has brought her to this sad, lonely spot.

But whatever she sees in you must soothe her fear, because you can feel the oily tension slither out from her body. It leaves her looking weak, exhausted. Like one of the possessed after the demons have finally been exorcised away. Her grip on the rail eases, and you can see a bit of color return to those bone white knuckles, those long, slim fingers.

"Gail" she answers, "Peck," and for a moment, you’re distracted by her voice. It’s beautiful, like church bells heard in the distance on a summer morning. Pealing out their gentle count of the hours, reminding everyone that someone out there is keeping watch.

It hits you after a moment, the name. And you fumble as you try to slip her cold hands into your thin gloves.

You know it from somewhere. You’ve heard it before.

You just can’t remember where.

"Okay, Miss Peck," you answer back, "here, put this on." You fit your watchcap over her head and then dig in the pocket of your track pants for your phone. "I’m going to call an ambulance for you, and we’ll get you to a hospital, get you warmed up, okay?"

But before you can punch the numbers in she stops you, places her gloved hand on your arm.

"No, don’t call 911, I’m fine." Her forehead crinkles with dislike, maybe? Fear, perhaps?

"Miss Peck, you’re showing signs of hypothermia. You need to go to a hospital," you point out, hoping she’ll see reason. And then there’s the other thing. The part where you came across her at five in the morning as she was likely contemplating a jump from this bridge into the icy waters of the rivers below. She wouldn’t have survived, you know. The current is strong, and the cold of the water would have pulled her under quickly.

"No," she repeats, "don’t call. There’s no need, I’m fine."

Panic, that’s what the line on her forehead is. That’s what you hear in her voice.

"I’m fine, really, I am. I swear."

But even though you can’t believe her, you don’t push the button to call.

"Fine? What are you doing out here this early on the park bridge? Because it looked to me like you were thinking about jumping off."

And it had. The shoes. The blank look on her face. The way she’s clutched at the railing, like it was the only thing holding her back. Like it was the only thing keeping her here.

"No," she says again, and reaches into the pocket of her coat.

She pulls out a badge, and you remember exactly how you know her name.

Gail Peck. Hero cop. Kidnapped by a serial killer. Blue in her blood.

You’d done the autopsy on her colleague, the one who’d died to save her.

You’d held his heart in your hand.

You know exactly the weight of the burden she must carry with her every day.

"If I’d wanted to kill myself, doc, I could think of far easier ways, don’t you think?"

You have to give her that point.

"What are you doing out here then," you ask, thumb still hovering over the button to call. Still not sure she isn’t in need of some sort of medical attention.

"Bad night," she answers with a shrug. "Dinner with my family. A reminder of how big a failure I am to them, how few of their expectations I meet." She scoffs and bends to pick up her heels. "I got sufficiently drunk and then I left before my mother could tell me just how disappointed she is that I have not lived up to my name. Just started walking."

She looks up at the sky and sighs. The sound is full of meaning, heavy with loss.

"And on top of it all, today is an anniversary of sorts. A day I don’t want to remember. I guess I just thought maybe I could forget. If I drank enough and walked far enough, the whole thing would pass me by and I wouldn’t have to remember any of it. If I could just disappear for a day, you know? No one would give me that look, or pretend to understand. I just wanted to disappear for a while."

She looks up at you, her blue eyes meeting your own, and you make a decision. Slipping the phone back into your pocket, you step closer.

"Okay," you say to her, "here’s the deal. I’m not going to call 911."

She looks grateful at that, and you know she was afraid of the questions that would arise, the possibility that she’d be considered unfit.

"But," you can’t just let her go, "I want you to come with me. My full name is Holly Stewart, I’m a forensic pathologist with the city, and I live two blocks away."

"I thought you said you were a doctor," she says, crinkling her nose.

"I am. Which is how I know that you’ve probably got a mild case of hypothermia, and that you need to get warm sooner rather than later. And also that if you truly don’t want to go to the hospital, I can monitor you at my place."

She looks wary, and you dig back in your pocket for your city ID. Of course she’d be hesitant to go to a stranger’s home.

You hold it out to her, let her take it from you and examine it.

"You can call the morgue and verify if you need to," you tell her, "but that’s the deal. If you want to avoid the hospital, you let me help you. And," you say, "if at any point I think you need to go to the hospital you go, no arguments."

Because the moment you think she needs one, you’re calling an ambulance. Hero cop or not.

She looks at you for a minute or two, with what you now know are her cop eyes. You can almost feel her assessing, evaluating, and you’re not sure why her nod, her assent to your terms, feels like such a beautiful victory. Feels like some sort of prize. Feels like the kind of award you want to be worthy of.

"Okay," you nod back and gently take her by the arm, holding her close so that some of your body heat will start to warm her up, "let’s go then, Officer Peck."

She shivers into you, and grips your arm tighter against her side,

"Gail," she says quietly, "call me Gail."


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : IT'S HALLOWEEN AND GAIL TRIES TO CONVINCE HOLLY TO LEAVE THE LIGHTS OFF AND NOT GIVE OUT CANDY.

**Just a Bunch of Hocus Pocus**

"So," Holly asked, "are you coming over tonight?"

Gail watched as her girlfriend stood before the sink in the autopsy room and washed blood and other bodily gook off her hands.

For a moment the question threw the blonde police officer. She’d been spending less and less time at the frathouse with Dov and Chris of late. The doctor’s townhouse now held most of her clothing, her video game systems and games, her extra uniforms, and at least half of her makeup. Most nights, really, she just slipped into the passenger seat of Holly’s car and teased each other about whose turn it was to make dinner.

It was shockingly domestic and surprisingly comfortable.

"Um, I thought so," Gail answered, uncertainty coloring her tone, "that was the plan, anyway. Why?"

Holly turned around as she dried her hands with paper towel.

"Oh," she said, "I was just wondering what your plans were. We hadn’t talked about it. I don’t know what you usually do for Halloween. I mean, do you guys go out, or throw a party, or just hand out candy at your place? And if you’re by me, will the guys be okay with the Trick or Treaters on their own?"

Gail just stared at her, not entirely sure she hasn’t just slipped into some terrible nightmare.

"Holly, my Halloween plans usually include the biggest bottle of tequila that I can find and a quality pair of noise-cancelling headphones."

Her girlfriend looked horrified.

"You don’t hand out candy? Gail, seriously?"

Holly stripped out of her lap coat while Gail sat on the counter, swinging her legs. Underneath the white jacket, Gail saw what her girlfriend was wearing for the first time that day—a black fitted t-shirt with a grinning Jack O’Lantern in orange.

"Oh, my God," Gail gasped, "Holly, are you one of those Halloween freaks? Do you wear a costume and make weird voices when you answer the door?"

The doctor laughed at her, at the adorably scandalized look on her girlfriend’s face.

"I may put on a spare lab coat and some scrubs and throw a stethoscope around my neck, yes. Why," Holly asked, "you don’t?."

She fake-gasped. “Gail Peck, are you one of those Halloween haters? How can you hate Halloween? It’s fun, Gail. You get to pretend to be someone else for a couple hours, and wear silly things and there are so many adorable kids in costumes at the door. It’s one of the best nights of the year!”

But Gail just grimaced.

"No, Holly. It is not. At all. It’s full of stupid pranks and college students who drink too much and try to joust with each other on unicycles and end up in the back of my squad babbling about whose beer-can suit of armor is cooler. It’s not fun. At all."

She hopped down from the counter as Holly flipped the lights illuminating the autopsy bay.

"Well," the doctor said as she zipped up her jacked in the hall, "this year, you’re going to enjoy it. We’re going to figure out a costume for you, we’re going to watch _Hocus Pocus_ and eat pizza and candy while we wait for the Trick or Treaters to come. And then we’re going to vote on our favorite costume for the evening. Trust me. It’ll be fun. And, Traci said she’d bring Leo by later, so you can laugh at whatever costume he talked your brother into wearing."

Holly knew that the opportunity make fun of Steve would hook her frowny blonde. That, and the promise of pizza and candy. Gail did have the diet of a five-year-old left overnight in the Wonka factory. Holly’d learned pretty quickly that she could talk the police officer into just about anything by offering her candy in exchange.

And when candy didn’t work, there was always sex.

So when she saw Gail pursing her lips, a sure sign that she wasn’t convinced the evening would be a good time, she brought out her big guns.

"Plus," Holly continued, "once it’s all over, and the streets are quiet and empty again, just the way you like it, we can play our own version of Trick or Treat."

That perked Gail up. Her eyes went wide with excitement.

"Or maybe we could skip all of the first part and go straight to that last bit," she suggested slyly, her voice low and husky with anticipation.

But Holly just laughed.

~ * ~

Later, in the midst of the pretty steady stream of kids ringing the doorbell and shouting “Trick or Treat” with glee, Traci and Steve and Leo did stop by.

"Whoa, Leo," Holly said with a wide smile, "let me see, Star Lord, right?"

"Yep," the boy said loudly, bouncing up and down as the night’s sugar burned through his small body, "and mom is Gamora and Steve is—"

"A tree, Steve," Gail says in disbelief, "your Halloween costume is a tree?"

"And what are you, Garbage Pail Gail," the detective said back, sticking his tongue out through his brown mask.

But before Gail could flip him off in response, or Holly could answer, Traci started to laugh.

"Don’t you recognize the whiskers and the scowl, Steve? Your sister is Grumpy Cat."


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : something about starting again.

**Always Go Beside You**

Nothing has gone right today.

Nothing.

You woke up late. And alone. 

There was a traffic jam on the way to work, and you’d spilled coffee all over your legs and clothes breaking fast and hard to avoid rear-ending a car that cut in front of you to avoid an upcoming lane closure.

You missed a meeting about increasing funds for new lab equipment over the next fiscal year, and then the centrifuge had broken down and you’d received notice that a large quantity of crime scene samples taken and analyzed yesterday had been contaminated by one of your newest lab techs. 

Even though you were starving, you had to skip lunch because the lead detective had requested your presence at a body dump and you didn’t feel you could say no because he’s your brother-in-law and never requests you specifically unless it truly is something that only you can handle. 

And someone— _someone_ —had eaten the stash of trail mix out of your field bag, and not replaced it, so you’d had to make do with a package of stale pretzels from the back of your lab assistant’s car. 

Then while you were examining the body, some rookie had gotten too close to the caution tape and tumbled down into the ravine to land on top of you and the decomposing remains of a suspected murder victim. Which meant that both he and you were now officially considered evidence, and someone else from the lab had to come and process you and the rookie and the body. 

You didn’t get home until late, delayed by the collection of evidence and the upcoming deadline for several reports that needed your signature and a hundred other random bits of minutiae that all needed your personal attention. And when you did get home, your wife had parked her car too far over in the garage, leaving you no room to squeeze yours in. Not to mention that when you walked in the door you found her upside down on the couch playing video games with her coat and shoes and keys strewn about the living room. 

But the thing that broke you, the thing that made all the other hassles and inconveniences of the day pale in comparison, was the way she smiled at you and instead of greeting you, instead of saying hello or asking how your day was or saying she loved you, was this … 

"Hey, honey, what’s for dinner?"

You saw red. You blew up at her. You might have shouted. 

The next thing you knew, you were sobbing. Sitting in the middle of the floor of the living room and sobbing. Your whole body shaking and big, alligator tears running down your face. 

"Hey, hey, Hol," Gail said to you, throwing down her controller and vaulting off the couch to take you into her arms, "what happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you? Did I do something? I’m sorry, baby." 

But you couldn’t answer any of her questions, too overwhelmed by the strength of your tears. So you just shook your head and buried your face into the soft cotton of her undershirt, let yourself be surrounded by the comfortable, familiar scent of her sweat and skin. 

You don’t know how long you two sat there on the floor, you in her lap and her arms around you as she rocked back and forth, trying to soothe your tears. But by the time your sobs had softened to a whimper, and you’d finally stopped shaking, the last rays of the sun had slipped past the skyline of the city, and the streetlights were on outside. 

"Can you talk now, Hol," Gail asks with a concerned voice, "tell me what happened?" 

And you find that you can. And that once the words start, you can’t slow them or stop them. They’re pouring out of you, and you’re telling her everything that happened today, how each bad thing piled atop the last, until at the end of the day it was all too much. And with each bad thing you tell her, you feel something lift off you, a weight that had been pressing against you, until you’ve told her everything. 

And then you feel weightless. With only her strong arms to anchor you. 

"Baby," Gail whispers, "oh, baby, I’m sorry." Her words are punctuated with soft, gentle kisses against your face, over the tracks of your tears, along the sad line of your lips.

"I’m sorry you had a bad day," she says. "And I’m sorry I didn’t leave a note this morning, and that your new tech is stupid. I’m sorry that I ate your trail mix, and that your lab tech is an idiot. And I’m sorry that the new rookie is a clumsy tool."

"But mostly," Gail continues, "I’m sorry that I’m a jerk." She lays her forehead against yours in supplication, asking for a forgiveness that is not necessary.

"I’m sorry I yelled," you whisper, and nuzzle your nose against her cheek.

But your wife just shakes her head. “Nah,” she says, “you needed to yell. You had a terrible day. You get to yell. Pretty sure it was in the vows.”

And that makes you chuckle. She’s a goof, your wife, but she’s your goof, and you’re so grateful for her.

"Now how about we start all over," Gail says, pulling back just a bit to look into your eyes, and you nod. 

Starting over sounds good.

You stare into her eyes, your world shrinking to just this woman, just this moment.

She guides you to turn until you’re facing her, until you’re straddling her lap and locking your legs around her waist. And it’s intimate, and it’s precious, and the look in those delicate blue irises is so fragile and so loving, you almost want to cry again. 

"Hey, baby," she asks quietly, "how was your day?"

You can feel your lip tremble, overcome with love for this woman who loves you so tenderly.

You whisper an answer, not yet brave enough to be loud. 

"Bad," you say, "it was bad."

And she kisses you, gently and sweet, and breathes an “I’m sorry” over your lips.

"I’m sorry," she says again, "what can I do to make it better, what do you need?"

There’s only one answer to that question. 

There will only ever be one answer to that question.

And so you hug your arms around her and let her body warm you.

"You," you answer, "just you."


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : shackles

Your honeymoon begins in a hotel in downtown Toronto, just a few miles away from the reception you and your wife—your _wife_ —snuck away from.

The real honeymoon begins tomorrow, when you and your wife board a flight for Bora Bora. But tonight, tonight you’re in a gorgeous suite at the Windsor Arms, one overlooking the sparkling lights of the downtown skyline, and your wife—you have a _wife_ —is standing there in her wedding dress, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet as she looks at you like it’s the first time. Like she’s falling in love with you all over again.

There’s so much you want to do. You should be exhausted, you’ve been up forever and the day was full of movement and celebration and this and that. You should be ready to fall into bed, collapse and feel the soft mattress catch your body and cradle it until morning. You should be exhausted but you’re not. Every part of you, every nerve and synapse is on fire, burning with excitement.

You got _married_ today.

You got _married_.

Your wife squeezed your hand and said “I do” and slipped a ring onto your finger, promising forever.

You got married today and you can’t let today end, can’t let today slip away and become tomorrow yet.

You’re not ready for it to be tomorrow yet.

“Wait,” you say as your wife—your _wife_ —slowly slides the hidden zipper of her dress down, lets the fabric pool at her feet, and she looks up at you with a smile and you want to keep this moment in your memory forever. The milky-white of her skin, the ivory lace covering her sex, her breasts. You want to savor this image, the flush of heat at her chest, the trembling of her thighs.

“Wait,” you say again, and step forward, step out of your own dress and move toward her, the soft blue of your lingerie a gentle contrast to her own.

The meeting of your lips is delicate, tentative. You’ve shared many a kiss tonight, many a kiss since that first one, that one that made you hers until death do you part. But those were for others. For your mother and hers, for your fathers. For your friends and your colleagues and your relatives. For people you barely knew and people you’ve never met.

This kiss, this kiss is for you.

This kiss is everything.

A promise to each other, a dream for the future.

The kiss deepens and as she clings to you, as your wife clings to you, you hear your vows echo through your head. A promise to love and to cherish, a promise to support her in her times of need, a promise to celebrate her in her times of joy. A promise to believe in her when she can’t believe in herself. A promise to laugh with her, cry with her, hope with her, and dream with her.

A promise to choose her, every day, for the rest of your lives.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : Irresistible

Holly saw the blonde out of the corner of her eye, tucked away amid the throng of moving bodies, and felt the ground shift suddenly under her feet.

She hadn’t come out tonight looking for a girl. She hadn’t, despite the best efforts of her friends, come to get laid. Lisa and Rachel had dragged her out of her apartment demanding that she snap out of her post-break up funk. They were tired of her moping around, tired of her hiding in her room and listening to the same song over and over again.

Just yesterday Lisa threatened to break her Rumours vinyl in half if she heard “Go Your Own Way” one more time. 

Lisa had always been a kind of judgmental bitch, and totally unsympathetic towards anyone else’s feelings. But she meant well, Holly thought. 

Or hoped.

Either way, Lisa and Rachel had wrestled her into the tightest, skimpiest pair of jean shorts they could find in the apartment, and a sheer gold halter top. Lisa had done her hair while Rachel did her makeup, and by the time they ushered her out of the off-campus apartment the three of them shared, Holly was halfway to feeling human again. 

Now, three neon-colored fruity drinks with little tiny umbrellas later, she’s feeling pretty good about the whole thing. 

The music is pumping and the lights are pulsing and everywhere she looks there are gorgeous women dancing, hot and sweaty bodies moving to the beat, moving against each other. She and her friends join the mass of bodies on the dance floor, letting themselves flow with the rhythm the DJ in the corner is creating. 

Holly dances with several women, each one beautiful and sexy. Some give their names, some their numbers. Some just align their bodies to hers and let the music guide them.

It’s fun and it reminds her what it feels like to be wanted, but until she sees the pale blonde moving determinedly through the crowd, Holly can’t say she really wants any of these women. Sure, the one who called herself Alyson made her laugh, and the stud with the lip ring whispered all the right words in her ear, but none of them spark a hint of desire. 

None of them make her want, make her crave. Not the way just the sight of the blonde does.

Holly moves over to where the woman is standing next to the bar, just on the edge of the crowd. She’s tall and thin, and so pale her skin almost glows in the neon of the strobe lights. 

She’s wearing a skin-tight black dress, and a pair of strappy heeled sandals that Lisa would call “fuck-me heels.” And Holly finds herself captivated, absolutely entranced, by the long line of her neck as she throws back the shot of tequila the bartender has just poured.

Holly steps up to the bar, sliding into the small space next to the blonde and signals the bartender for two more. She’s never been the kind to initiate, the kind to make the first move, but there’s something about this woman that pulls her in, some sort of magnetic attraction that she can’t ignore. 

And she doesn’t want to.

Maybe it’s the eyes, those sapphire-blue irises that previously Holly couldn’t have believed existed in nature, or maybe it’s the quirk of her lips, outlined in vibrant red. Maybe it’s the expression on her face, the hint of loneliness, the suggestion of loss. 

Maybe it’s none of those things, maybe it’s something intangible, something mystical. 

But Holly can’t ignore the pull. 

And Holly can’t imagine wanting to.

The blonde nods a silent thank you, and then lifts the small glass up to her lips, holding it there, waiting. Waiting for Holly to lift her own, a toast of some sort. 

The liquor burns down her throat, but her lust, the desire she feels for this stranger burns hotter, burns stronger. Everything that was missing on the dance floor, Holly finds here, at the bar. She’s never felt so strongly attracted to someone before, never. Not the most recent ex-girlfriend, not the one before that, or the casual one night stands she’s had along the way. 

Nothing and no one has ever made Holly feel the way just the possibility of this woman does.

"Another," the woman asks, and raises her hand for the bartender.

But Holly shakes her head. Any more and she’ll lose the last bit of control she still has. 

"Get out of here," the blonde says, jerking her head toward the back exit, the one that will lead them out into the alley and the cool night air. 

And Holly nods, sparing a brief look back toward the dance floor where Lisa is grinding up against a tall, gorgeous woman and Rachel is dancing by herself, arms raised over her head and a drink in her hand, in the middle of the floor. They won’t miss her.

Not halfway down the hallway, but out-of-sight of the dance floor, the blonde spins and presses Holly against the cool brick wall, desperately kissing her with soft lips. And then the woman’s tongue is in her mouth, thrusting hard and curling around her own. 

Holly feels something curl, and swirl, and release in the depths of her belly, and she moans into the shorter woman’s mouth. And then the blonde’s hands begin to wander, slipping under the gold fabric of her top and then up, up to grasp at her breasts, kneading and rolling the swollen flesh in her palms. 

_God_ , Holly thinks as she bites at the woman’s lower lip, and she shudders as the blonde swipes her thumbs roughly over perked and aching nipples. She wants to return the favor, wants to feel this woman’s skin against her palms, wants to draw her nails along the smooth skin of the blonde’s back and feel the woman arch into her body. 

But when she tries, when she tries to touch, the woman pulls back, shakes her head no. 

And there’s something about her, something in her eyes that has Holly nodding, has Holly agreeing to this imbalanced encounter. This taking without giving. 

Those blue eyes burn into her as the blonde leans in to kiss at her lips again, once, just once, before attaching them to the steady beat of her pulse at the base of her neck. Holly throws her head back, not even registering the pain of connecting with the hard wall behind her, as this woman, this beautiful, sexy, hot woman licks and sucks and bites at her skin. 

The heavy bass of the music resonates through the bricks in the wall, and slips into her body, throbbing in time with her hard, wet clit, and Holly finds herself thrusting unconsciously into the blonde’s hips, seeking some sort of pressure, seeking some sort of relief. She grasps at the woman’s perfect ass, and then slowly, slowly works the hem of her partner’s dress up, pulling the blonde into her as she does. 

And her effort is rewarded when a firm, hot thigh slips between her own legs. 

Holly sinks down on it, letting the blonde take her weight, support her against the wall. And then she begins to move, thrusting her hips along the line of the woman’s muscled leg, riding her fast and hard. The seam of her jeans hitting her clit in just the right way.

The blonde pushes up the halter top, exposing Holly’s breasts, her nipples, to the cool air. She trails tiny bites up the her neck, and then kisses Holly again, slower this time, before dipping her head to take one hard nipple, and then the other, into the heat of her mouth, letting her teeth drag over the sensitive tips. Her hands move to Holly’s hips, and settle there, supporting her as Holly’s movements grew more frantic, more desperate. 

When she starts moaning loudly, unable to keep the sounds of her growing pleasure, her quickly approaching orgasm, the blonde brings up a hand to cover her mouth. 

That only pushes Holly further, only excites her more. She works her tongue against the woman’s rough palm, tracing the tip along the mounds and ridges there, licking the lines between her fingers, and is please when she hears her tormentor moan in return. 

She tilts her hips into the blonde’s, her thrusts fast and shallow and desperate as she rocks herself into the other woman’s body, every nerve, every synapse, every thought perched on the edge of completion. And as the blonde releases one tight nipple, wet from her ministrations, and takes the other into her mouth, drawing the hard bud in and suckling hard, Holly thrusts once, twice more, and then struggles to hold herself still, her entire body trembling with the force of her orgasm. 

She feels her sex clench and release, muscles gripping, contracting around nothing, and aches to be filled, aches for the blonde to slip her long, slim fingers inside. Aches to be full, to be tight, to be stretched around the woman’s hand, to feel the heat of her skin inside. 

Somewhere behind them there’s a noise, a crash, and the blond flinches, jerking her leg and grinding into Holly’s clit.

Holly comes again, this time biting down against the hand covering her mouth, the fingers she’s drawn between her lips to suck on. 

"Fuck," she hears the blonde whisper in pain, the first word she’s said since they stood by the bar. 

They stand there like that for a long while, Holly’s breathing slowly returning to normal, her pulse settling back into it’s usual pace while the mysterious, silent, beautiful blonde continues to hold her up, support her weight. Her lips are bruised, Holly knows, from the kisses and then the way the woman began to thrust her fingers in and out of her mouth as Holly whimpered through her second orgasm. Her lips are bruised and her make-up is mussed, and her hair has to be an absolute mess, but she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t give a damn.

She’s the happiest, the most relaxed, the most at peace she’s been in a long time. Since long before the latest break-up. 

All thanks to this woman, this blonde who pushed and pulled, who gave and gave and gave, taking only Holly’s moans, taking only Holly’s pleasure in return. 

Eventually, they parted, the blonde gently pulling her fingers out of Holly’s mouth, slowly lowering her leg before tugging the gold fabric of her top back down over her breasts and smoothing her own skirt back into place. A few swipes of her hand over her hair, and the other woman is looking mostly presentable, almost as if nothing happened in this dim hallway. 

But Holly can see the evidence, the smudging of her lipstick, her bottom lip swelling where Holly bit at it. The way the clear blue of her irises has turned dark and stormy, laden with pent up arousal. 

"Can I," Holly starts, but the blonde just shakes her head, smiling almost shyly, despite what had just passed between them.

"But how will," she tries again, desperate to know something, anything about this woman that has just set her world on fire.

But the woman just smiles, and shakes her head again, almost in a challenge.

"You’ll have to find me," she says, and springs back into the center of the club, Holly quickly losing track of her in the swarm of dancing bodies.

Holly just sighs, and wipes at her lips as she sees Rachel trying to catch her attention. 

Looks like they’ll be coming back tomorrow.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : meant no harm

"Aren’t you a doctor, Holly? Didn’t you swear to ‘do no harm’ and all that when they gave you the scalpel and the white coat?"

But Holly just ignored her girlfriend and went back to filling out the paperwork on the clipboard a bored-looking nurse handed them when they arrived.

"I’m pretty sure broken bones count as harm, Hol," the blonde pouted, lifting the flannel-wrapped ice pack that she’d been holding to her face.

"Keep the ice on it," Holly said sharply, "and try to keep from talking. I’m pretty sure it’s just your nose but I’m going to ask them to X-Ray your face too, just in case there are any corresponding breaks in the zygomatic bone or the maxilla. I hit you pretty hard and I don’t like the way you’re starting to bruise."

Gail pouted. “This is all your fault, you know,” she said and stuck out her bottom lip.

"Mmmhmm," Holly answered dryly, "and I’m sure it has nothing to do with you hiding in our dark basement and jumping out from the corner to try and scare me. I mean, what were you thinking, babe? You were the one to insist I take those self-defense classes in the first place."

The blonde shifted position and grimaced as the movement aggravated something in her face.

"Well," she answered, her tone grumpy, "I didn’t think you were going to jam your elbow into my face and then spin and throw an uppercut."

She sounded pitiful and Holly couldn’t but help feel a little sorry.

"At least I realized it was you before I threw you to the ground," she said.

Gail harrumphed, and adjusted the soggy ice pack against her aching nose and face.

"It hurts, Hol," she said, the doctor could hear the beginning of a new round of tears in her girlfriend’s voice.

"I know, honey," she said. "Here, lean against my shoulder and try to hold on. I’m sure the nurse will call us at any moment, and then you’re just one embarrassing story and a couple of X-Rays away from a day or two of narcotic-induced bliss."

But that only soothed Gail momentarily.

"Oh, my God," she whispered dramatically, "Holly, what are we going to tell the doctor?"

But the brunette didn’t follow. “What do you mean, Gail—are you sure you didn’t lose consciousness for a moment? Do you feel dizzy or nauseous at all?” Holly began to worry that maybe she should ask the doctor to order an MRI as well.

"Hol, if we tell them what happened, they’ll arrest you for domestic abuse." Gail was trying to whisper but failing, and Holly was glad it seemed to be a slow day in the ER so far.

"Gail, it was an accident. We’ll just tell them everything, how it was all a misunderstanding. They’ll probably laugh but they won’t arrest us, honey."

But Gail was looking back and forth between her girlfriend and the big, burly security officer sitting in the corner, currently paging through a back issue of some magazine extolling the benefits of late-pregnancy workouts.

"Baby, you beat me up. They’re going to arrest you. We have to get our story straight. If we tell them what really happened they’ll think I’m making it up to protect my abuser. Trust me, Hol, I’m a police officer."

Holly couldn’t decide whether to laugh or sigh. “Gail, when in your experience as an officer of the law has ‘getting a story straight’ every worked out for anyone? It’ll just make them more suspicious. We’ll just tell the truth. Nothing will—”

But she was interrupted by a tiny nurse at the door.

"Peck? Abigail Peck?"

"Just stay cool, Hol," Gail whispered as the brunette helped her up, "I got this. You’re not getting cuffed today."

Holly rolled her eyes and led her ridiculous girlfriend out of the waiting room and into the curtained-off examining room to where a young male nurse was waiting.

"And what is the nature of your injury today," the nurse—Joel, according to his name tag—asked, gently peeling away the mostly melted ice pack Gail had been holding over her nose and face to help keep it from swelling.

"I’m a sex goddess," the blonde responded defensively.

Holly just snorted and rolled her eyes again.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : [From [OTP Prompts](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/101916038840/imagine-person-a-of-your-otp-walking-in-on-person)] Imagine person A of your OTP walking in on person B in the bathroom as they are pulling down their underwear.

**Lines**

"Seriously, Gail, I don’t understand why you’re so freaked out over this," Holly says as she grabs her bagel out of the toaster.

Gail just stands there and stares back at her. “How is it not freaking you out,” she says, “you walked in on me using the bathroom! I was peeing, Holly.”

She looks absolutely mortified. The bright red flush of embarrassment hasn’t left her face all morning, not since “The Incident,” as Gail insists on calling it, happened.

"It’s no big deal, Gail. You walked in on me in the middle of putting a tampon in just last week."

Honestly, Holly has no idea why this bothers her girlfriend so much. It’s not like they haven’t seen each other in all states of undress already.

But for some reason, it does. It bothers Gail a lot.

"No, I didn’t," the blonde exclaims in disbelief.

Holly just looks at her, eyebrows raised.

"Um, yes, hon, you did. You walked into the bathroom naked, grunted, and then turned the shower on as hot as it can go and hopped in. All while I was right there, plastic applicator half-shoved up my hoo-ha."

But Gail shakes her head, “No. Hol, that definitely did not—wait. Which morning was that?”

Rolling her eyes, Holly picks up her coffee cup, “Tuesday, I think. Because we were at the bar the night before.”

Gail starts to laugh, and smiles. That smart-ass grin that Holly loves to see is stretched wide across the blonde’s face.

"Baby, I drank so much that night. You might have been in there, but I definitely did not see you. My eyes were glued shut."

"It did seem rather out of character for you," Holly says as she sidles up to her girlfriend’s side, "I mean, you didn’t even make a single joke."

An aware-Gail would have definitely made a joke. Sometime about Aunt Flo or the Red Sea or shouldn’t their cycles be syncing up soon so there’d only be one week a month when they couldn’t have sex.

"So is that why it didn’t bother you this morning when you walked in," Gail asks and steals a sip of her girlfriend’s coffee.

"I figured you thought we’d crossed that line, you know," Holly asks and hands her mug over before reaching to grab another one from the cupboard. "The ‘we’ve literally seen everything and I don’t care if you watch me pee’ line."

Gail purses her lips contemplatively. When she asks, she’s quiet. Like this is important. A defining moment for their relationship.

"Do you think we’ve crossed that line?"

It kind of is, Holly realizes, defining, that is.

"I think," she says to her girlfriend, who can’t seem to meet her eyes, "I think that I love you. And that you love me. I think that there isn’t a single part of your body that I don’t know and love, that I haven’t touched with my lips or my hands. So yes, I think we’re at the point where if I walk into the bathroom while you’re using it, or you walk in on me, it won’t freak me out. I’ll still love you."

"Hmmm," Gail says and pulls Holly’s head down just the slightest, and touches her forehead to her girlfriend’s. "But will you still respect me in the morning," she asks in a loving, teasing tone.

And with that, Holly knows that her message got through to her girlfriend, knows that Gail believes her, and trusts her.

"Well," she answers back in kind, "that depends. You’ll definitely have to promise never to eat more than one bowl of Chris’s chili again."

The look on Gail’s face is worth the pinch the blonde gives her ribs. That was definitely not a night either of them will forget—embarrassed by her stomach’s betrayal, Gail had almost made Holly drive her back to the frathouse that evening. Which, considering that she had officially moved out over two months before, was particularly amusing.

But Gail rubs her thumb over the skin she’s just pinched and smiles.

"Deal."


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : grinding

The burr of the coffee grinder and the scent of freshly ground beans are what wake you in the morning. Not the sunlight streaming in to cast its warm rays over your face, or the uncomfortable angle of your neck against what feels like the arm of a couch. Not even the sandy rasp of your tongue against the roof of your mouth,

Nothing feels familiar, and you struggle to remember what happened the night before. 

But you can’t remember. 

And you start to panic, your mind slipping back into the fuzzy darkness of a room you can’t really remember, the sound of hard-soled shoes against wooden steps coming closer, and closer.

Before you know it, you’re struggling to breathe, the cloying scent of his detergent, his cologne in your nostrils and you bring your hands up to your face to try and claw it out of your skin. 

"Hey, Gail, hey," you hear a voice call out, gently piercing through the veil of your flashback, "you’re okay. You’re here with me in my apartment. You got hurt yesterday and needed someone to look after you."

With every word the cold fear retreats just a little more. 

Holly, it’s Holly’s voice.

Not Ross Perik. 

"Breathe, in and out, Gail," she says, and you can sense her presence nearby. And then you feel her hand, slowly, gently, come to rest on your shoulder, pulling you into the present. 

When you open your eyes the first thing you see is her. Sitting on the coffee table in front of you, dressed in worn blue jeans and a sunny yellow sweater. 

"There you are," she says with a soft smile, lit up from behind by the sun. For a second you’re not sure that she’s even real. She looks almost angelic all back-lit in the early morning light. 

Holly helps you sit up on the couch, her knees knocking against your own, and the extra contact helps to ease the rapid beat of your heart in your chest. 

She makes you feel grounded. 

Safe.

Safe in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. 

Since Perik took you, took everything from you. 

"How are you feeling," Holly asks as she hands you a glass half-full of water and holds out her palm, a couple of chalk-white pills cupped inside.

She doesn’t say anything when you take the water but ignore the pills. You hate the way they make you feel, like a shadow of yourself. A dried-up ghost of your dreams and nightmares. 

The water tastes delicious. Cold and wet and it eases the dry burn in your throat. 

You want more. 

You want oceans of it, want to bury yourself under its waves, drown in it. 

But you can smell the coffee now, and you want that more.

"I’d feel better if I could have some coffee," you suggest, face falling when you see her begin to shake her head. 

"You should drink some more water, coffee will just dehydrate you, Gail. And that will just make you feel terrible when you take your pain meds," Holly says, shaking her hand at you again. 

It’ll be easier if you just take the pills. Holly is sweet and kind and funny but she also has a stubborn streak that rivals yours and right now you’re not confident you can hold out the longest.

Especially not with the way your arm is hurting right now.

And it’s starting to come back to you, yesterday. Andy. Nick. Your arm, the pain. Something about an elephant.

Holly.

Calling Holly to come and pick you up, asking if you could stay with her tonight instead of going back to the apartment where Dov would just ask annoying questions and look at you with that weird face all night. 

She’d brought you into her home and taken care of you. Fed you soup and crackers, brought you glasses of water and pills, and when it got late, helped you change into a pair of her pajamas. 

She’d even offered you her bed, but you remember turning her down. 

Something about having plaid-colored nightmares. 

You remember her smiling at you, that smile that cuts right through you, and bringing you pillows and blankets, getting you settled into the couch for the night as she apologized for not having a guest room. 

And then nothing.

Darkness.

Sleep.

"Here you go," Holly says as she brings you another glass of water, putting it down on the coffee table right next to the two white pills you know you’re supposed to take. 

And you do, gulping them back with the cold water until the glass is empty again.

"How’s the pain," she asks, wiping at the droplets of water on the honey-colored wood.

It’s terrible, actually. It hurts, it really fucking hurts. Every time you move your arm you feel the skin twist and turn. There’s this pulling feeling, like your skin is too tight, like it shrunk and no longer fits in its place on your arm. 

But you don’t want to admit that for some reason. You don’t want her to know how much you just want to curl up into a ball and cry.

So you lie. You tell Holly it doesn’t hurt that bad, that you’ve felt worse before. 

She just looks at you for a moment, intensely, and gives a soft “hmmmm,” before moving on to her next question.

"How’d you sleep," she asks you, picking at a bit of fuzz on the arm of her sweater. 

"Fine," you answer, and that, at least, is true. You slept fine. As far as you can remember, anyway. 

"You know, sometimes analgesics like oxycodone can cause nightmares and panic attacks, it’s not unusual." 

Holly looks at you and you can see the concern in her eyes. It doesn’t bother you like it would if you saw it in someone else. You don’t feel weak for her having seen you like that. 

All you feel is glad that it was her, glad that she was there when you finally opened your eyes.

"It’s not that," you try to explain, words catching on the tip of your tongue.

"It wasn’t the drugs, not really. It’s—" you stop and take a breath. 

"This thing happened last year, and sometimes I still have nightmares, or panic attacks. When I’m really tired, or drunk, or—"

"—High on large doses of opiates," Holly cuts in gently. "It’s okay," she says, "you don’t have to tell me. Not if you don’t want to."

But that’s the problem, you realize. 

Because you do. 

You want to tell her, you want to tell her everything. What happened to you in that basement, what happened after. They’re all there, those words, those memories, ready to tumble out. 

But you can’t share them yet. 

You’re not ready. 

"I do," you answer, and you mean it. "I do want to tell you. Just not right now, not today."

Holly nods her head. She’ll wait for you to tell her, you know. And when you do, it’ll be right. It’ll feel right.

The room is quiet for a few minutes while the two of you sit on the couch and watch dust mites chase each other in the early morning sun.

"Can I have coffee now," you ask, needing to break the silence.

The grin you get in return is part-exasperation and part-something else. Something you don’t quite recognize.

"Nope," Holly answers back, "coffee’s all mine until you’re drug-free."

Your pout is useless against her, it seems, because she just taps your bottom lip with her finger and laughs.

"But, I have an idea," she says, her eyes twinkling with amusement. 

Turns out her idea is pretty good as it involves a Matlock marathon that you are just high enough to enjoy.

And as you find out later, your head burrowed into one of her big cushy pillows and the soft flannel of her duvet cover brushing pleasantly against your cheek, her bed is pretty damn comfortable after all.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : from [OTPPrompts](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/103883071779/imagine-person-a-has-a-really-cute-sneeze-that), Imagine person A has a really cute sneeze that sounds like a kitten and person B awws whenever A sneezes. A acts like they hate it, but secretly loves that B loves it. (OT3: A sneezes and B and C aww at the same time and A glares, then they all crack up laughing.)

**This Jungle**

There it was again, that sound. If Holly didn’t know any better, she’d say it sounded just like the gentle mewling sound her childhood pet kitten, Snickers, had made when she’d first gotten him. Such tiny squeaks coming from the wee ball of fuzz in her cupped hands. But grown-up Holly knew that the noise she kept hearing as she crept down the stairs in the dark couldn’t be caused by a kitten. For one thing, she didn’t have a cat, baby or otherwise.

For another, kittens very rarely follow up their early attempts at meowing with grumpily muttered curses. Holly loosened up her grip on the bat she’d grabbed on her way down the stairs.

Gail. It was just Gail.

Holly propped the bat up against the wall at the bottom of the stairs and followed the soft sounds of whatever Gail was up to. She found her girlfriend in the downstairs bathroom, shivering and stripping off her sodden wet clothes, and watched as Gail’s whole body shook with a quiet but powerful sneeze.

Ah, that’s what it was. Just Gail sneezing. Gail’s adorable, tiny, kitten-like sneeze.

Holly turned the light on and her girlfriend started in surprise.

"Hol," she said, hopping about as she tried to shimmy out of her tight, dark jeans. "I didn’t want to—"

Another sneeze.

"—wake you."

Holly can’t hold onto the giggle. Yes, Gail looks miserable, but the adorable sounds she’s making are just too much for the doctor. The laugh that escapes is half-snort, half-bark and Gail’s brow furrows in annoyance.

"Really, Holly? I’m soaking wet and shivering and miserable and you’re laughing at me?" The question is punctuated by another series of sneezes and an epic eye-roll as Gail kicks away her jeans.

Holly steps into the bathroom, deftly avoiding the piles of dripping clothes and grabs a towel.

"What happened," she asked as she started toweling off her girlfriend’s short, blonde locks. "Why are you soaking wet?"

But Gail can’t answer, she’s caught up in a series of sneezes—two, three, four—that wrack her body as Holly wraps her up in a tight embrace, pulling the blonde’s naked body into her, against the warm flannel of her pajamas.

"Honey," Holly said, "what happened?" She turned, not waiting for Gail to respond, and began walking them out of the bathroom, toward the stairs that would take them up to the second floor, the master bathroom with it’s big, claw-footed tub.

"Temperature dropped, you know that big puddle at the end of the driveway from today’s rain," Gail said amid sneezes, her little feline noises.

Holly suppressed her smile at the cute sound and guided Gail into her bedroom, into the attached bath, to sit on the edge of the tub.

"I do," she answered, "and I was going to call the city if it was still there tomorrow. Why—Gail, did you fall in it?"

She heard her girlfriend grumble as she started the water.

"I slipped. There was something fluttering around at the end of the drive and I went to go get it but the ground was icy and I slipped. Right into the freezing water." Gail grimaced and sneezed again.

The bathroom began to fill with steam, and Holly pulled on Gail’s arms until the shorter woman was standing, and then nudged her until the blonde was stepping into the tub and standing under the warm, warm water. Holly left the bath curtain open while she pulled off her own clothes, dropping the flannel pants and shirt onto the bathroom counter, and stepped in behind her girlfriend.

Holly pulled the blonde against her, letting the warmth of the water and her own body heat soothe the chills emanating through Gail’s body.

"You should have come and gotten me," the brunette whispered as Gail’s head settled onto her shoulder, "I heard you sneezing and thought I’d somehow acquired a kitten."

"A kitten? When did you get a kitten," Gail asked in a confused and sleepy voice, her breath ghosting against the bare skin of Holly’s neck.

Holly reached for the loofah hanging off a hook, and the lavender-scented body wash that Gail’s therapist had recommended a while ago after a period of particularly bad nightmares and troubles with insomnia. Thankfully, Gail had been sleeping better for the past few months, but Holly knows that Gail still uses the soap after rough days at work, or at times when she needs to unwind. It seemed like a good night to use it, to massage the gentle-scent into her girlfriend’s skin, let it chase away the frustrations of another day and seduce her grumpy and sleepy girlfriend into a more relaxed state.

She ran the sudsed-up loofah over Gail’s back, and the woman in her arms let out a soft and pleasant moan. It was soft and sweet, and it brought a smile to Holly’s face. She loved being able to coax the tensions of the day out of the blonde’s body and mind.

"You, Officer Peck, were the kitten. Your sneezes, they sound just like little kitten sounds. It’s pretty adorable."

Holly doesn’t have to see Gail’s face to know that her girlfriend is scrunching her nose up in response. Talk about adorable.

"I do not sound like a kitten, Holly," Gail says in a voice that would be growly if she weren’t falling asleep on her girlfriend’s shoulder in the shower, "I am a cop. I am a badass. I don’t meow, I roar."

But Holly just smiled, and then smirked when she felt Gail’s body shake once, twice, three times in quick succession, the cute little noise echoing just the slightest against the tile walls of their bathroom.

"Rawr, my lion," she whispered into her girlfriend’s ear as she reached to turn off the water, "now let’s get you dried off and into bed."

The lion nickname stuck, much to Gail’s chagrin, especially after the chill she caught developed into a hacking cough and a congested chest, and the tiny kitten-sneezes became loud and roaring ones that left the blonde whimpering. It became especially appropriate after several days in bed, when Gail’s bedhead began looking like a rather impressive mane.

"Come along, King of the Jungle," Holly said with a sympathetic laugh as she pulled Gail out of their bed and toward the shower, "because if you don’t shower soon you’re going to find yourself with a new title. King of the Sleeping Alone, perhaps."

Gail grunted, but followed the directions, as all smart lions do, of her mate.

After all, as Holly pointed out to her in the shower, everyone knows who really runs the jungle.

Gail just glared at her, blue eyes peeking out from under the fringe of wet hair, and growled.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : rhythm

It’s a well-known fact that Holly has no rhythm.

She never has. 

The annual dance unit in her childhood physical education class was always her least favorite, spent always half a step behind, a turn ahead. 

One time when jitterbugging she smacked Bobby Constantine right in the face. On accident, of course, but he bled all over the wooden floor in the school’s old gymnasium, leaving bright red droplets in a trail behind him as the teacher led him off to the nurse. The whole rest of the unit, she was always the last one to be paired up, and she pretended not to notice the sympathetic look Miss French gave whomever was unlucky enough to be selected as her partner for the day. 

Things didn’t get better over time. 

The story of how she met Lisa and Rachel? 

Humiliating. 

Well, humiliating years ago. Just embarrassing now. 

Holly’d gone out to a club with her college roommate, some boy-crazy girl named Rebecca. Holly can’t remember what she looks like anymore, the image is fuzzy in her mind beyond red frizz and the most horrible color lipstick she’d ever seen. But she remembers the night they went out to a club, slipped in with fake IDs Rebecca’s sorority sister had gotten for them. 

She remembers, too, being dragged out onto the dance floor with a drink in her hand, and how the vodka cranberry had ended up all over this couple dancing next to them. Lisa, mostly, with a little bit on Rachel.

A dry-cleaning bill later, at Lisa’s insistence, of course, and Holly had two brand new friends. 

They’d stuck together all throughout their undergraduate years, and even though scholarships and specializations took them in different directions for med school and their careers, they were still her best friends. 

Even if they did take every opportunity possible to remind her of just how badly she moved on the dance floor. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t like to dance, she did. It was just that she was kind of terrible at it. 

A disaster, even.

Like now. In the basement of the townhouse she shares with Gail, as they try again and again to get her feet to move on the right beats, her hips to sway at the right time. All to the mix of waltzes Rachel had made for them to practice with.

"Seriously, Hol, did you break your spine as a child? Did the doctors just fuse everything together," Lisa said as she watched Holly move in the wrong direction yet again, ignoring the small yelp that Rachel can’t quiet silence.

"Lisa—," Rachel’s tone is stern. She’s warned Lisa about going easy on their poor friend. Holly had confided in them how important this was to her, and how much she wanted to surprise Gail.

Neither friend understood quite what was between the doctor and the police officer, but they knew how deeply Holly cared for the blonde. Loved the blonde. And it was obvious, the more time they spent with the couple, just how deep Gail’s love for their friend was as well. 

It was Lisa who held out the longest, of course. She’d always been protective of Holly, and she didn’t want to see either of them, her friend or Gail, get hurt. Hurt each other. And after that first disastrous meeting, she was sure Gail was wrong for Holly. And vice versa.

But then they’d gotten back together.

And she watched them fall in love.

Now, even though she kept up the charade of tolerating the brusque police officer, she’d grown to like and appreciate Gail. For her dark sense of humor, for her integrity, and most of all, for the look she put in Holly’s eyes. 

And maybe that was why she was pushing Holly so hard during their sessions with the boombox. Because there was a part of her, a tiny part, a part that damn well better never be spoken about, that wanted this night to be perfect for both her friends, Holly, yes, but also Gail. This dance, she swore, would be perfect for them.

"Come on, Stewart, move those hips. Show us why Gail gets that look in her eyes whenever you bump up next to her in the kitchen—I know you do it on purpose just to be gross."

Lisa queued up the music again, right to the track that Holly had requested she include. 

"From the top, Hols," the plastic surgeon said, and counted off a few beats before starting the music. 

Rachel just sighed and looked down at her sore feet. 

If Holly heard her mumble about “bringing steel-toed heels with her next time,” she didn’t say a word.

In the end, though, the lessons pay off.

~ * ~ 

It’s been a long, happy day.

A day full of obligations and responsibilities, a day full of laughter and celebration as Elaine and Bill renewed their vows for their fortieth wedding anniversary. She and Gail have been up forever, practically. It seems like days ago that she pried the sheet out of her whimpering girlfriend’s hands in the dark, pre-dawn hours. Since she half-dragged the blonde into the bathroom to shower. 

They’d been busy from the start, making sure the church was decorated properly. The same church the Pecks had originally been married in, the church where Steve and Gail had each been baptized. Holly had set out the programs while Gail had chased after the florist and threatened the poor woman with grievous bodily injury if the place didn’t look exactly like the decorations in the original wedding photo. 

Then there’d been some mix-up with the tuxedos, and they’d been left with Steve and Tracy’s new baby girl while Tracy ran Leo back to the rental place to exchange his tie and shoes. That, of course, went disastrously when Lucy spit up all over one of the silk ribbons decorating the aisle. (Thankfully they had an extra.)

And then there was the getting ready part, with Gail and her mother in one room, and Tracy and Lucy getting dressed with her in another. The men, they were off doing their own thing. 

But the ceremony? 

The ceremony was beautiful. Gail and Steve walked in together, their parents’ maid of honor and best man, respectively, and Holly felt her mouth go dry when she saw Gail appear at the back of the church in the sage green modernization of Elaine’s original bridesmaids’ dresses. She’ll never remember what Steve looked like, or even Elaine and Bill, as they came down the aisle together, but she’ll always remember Gail. 

Honestly, she’ll probably only remember Gail. Gail and the way her heart swelled as she watched her girlfriend kiss her mother on the cheek when she took the bouquet. Gail and the way those piercing blue eyes locked on to her own as vows were exchanged and promises renewed. Gail and her soft, gentle smile. Almost shy as she stood at the altar behind her mother. 

She only looked away when Lucy reached over and grabbed at her arm, the eight-month-old cooing adorably. 

The rest of the day was spent eating, and toasting, and laughing at Steve’s jokes and Gail’s begrudging comments about having to stand up and even _make_ any comments. 

It’s a shindig and it’s big and flashy and definitely over-the-top. But Elaine and Bill are happy, and everyone is having a good time. Especially Gail, who latched onto her hand when she sat back down after speaking and hasn’t let go since. Not once. Not for anyone, or anything. 

~ * ~ 

Now they’re alone. All alone in the hotel suite they’d reserved so that driving home could be the last thing on their minds all day. 

Now they’re all alone and Holly can feel the nerves building at the base of her spine. 

But she’s not backing down. 

Not at all. 

Gail sits on the bed, gorgeous in the beaded dress she changed into for the reception. She’s perfection in the warm silvery sheath, the way it moves with her body, curves with her. And her hair, beautiful. All done up in messy braids, wisps of blonde gently curling around her face. 

Holly’s stomach almost aches to look at her. 

"Hey," she says, fingers drumming over the sound system, hoping that the champagne she sees chilling in the corner means the bellhop set up the cd like she asked.

If Gail notices the quiver in her voice, she doesn’t show it. 

"Hey," the blonde answers back softly, "long day."

But Holly just “hmmms” in response, and hits play, counting time in her head as the intro starts and she hears the piano.

She looks down at Gail, her girlfriend, her lover, her life, and holds out her hand.

"Dance with me," she says.

For a moment Gail looks like she’s going to say something. But she doesn’t. She just smiles, and takes Holly’s hand, lets the doctor help her up. 

And then they dance. Slow. Holly holding Gail close as she leads the other woman over the soft, plush carpet of their room, their bodies in perfect rhythm as they step once, twice, thrice to the music. 

The music fades away, and they stand together in the middle of the room, bodies aligned and heartbeats in sync.

Holly takes a breath, settles herself, and looks at the woman she loves. 

"Gail," she whispers. 

And then louder, and somehow softer, “Gail.”

Blue eyes meet hers, and she can see the depths of Gail’s feelings for her in the blonde’s endless gaze. 

It’s infinite. It’s everlasting. 

It’s everything.

And Holly knows then that she’s ready, Gail. Knows that they both are.

And so she speaks.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : puppy love

The puppy began as a compromise, of sorts.

Gail brought up the question of children, but Holly wasn’t ready.

To be honest, Holly wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready. Children were not something she needed in her life. She’d known that since she was a teenager. She liked kids, she did. She loved hanging out with Leo whenever she and Gail got together with Traci and her son. And she adored being “Cool Aunt Holly” to her nieces and nephews.

But being a parent?

That wasn’t ever on her “to do” list.

So when Gail brought it up, Holly wasn’t sure what to say.

The puppy was a compromise, a step toward maybe one day something—someone—more.

~ * ~

Holly was on the phone when Gail trudged into the kitchen looking exhausted. The blonde sat down at the kitchen table and put her head down into her folded arms, waiting for her girlfriend to finish her call.

The brunette walked over to stand over the tired police officer, bending to leave a kiss on the blonde’s shoulder.

"Yeah, she just got in. Night shift," she said, "all week, yep. No, nothing like that. Just her turn."

She began to scratch at the back of Gail’s neck, smiling as the woman stretched, almost cat-like, in response.

"We’ll stop by this afternoon sometime," Holly told her brother-in-law on the other side of the line, "once Gail’s had some time to sleep. And congratulations again, tell Katie I’m so excited to meet him."

Gail lifted her head and Holly smiled down at her.

"Sure thing, Anton, you make your other calls. And let us know if we can bring anything—dinner, anything, okay?"

She put the phone down and looked at her sleepy police officer.

"Hey, baby," Holly said, her voice happy, pleased to have her girl home with her.

Gail pushed her chair back from the table and pulled Holly closer, coaxed her girlfriend into her lap.

"Your sister had the baby," she asked, playing with the hem of Holly’s stolen Toronto PD sweatshirt.

Holly smiled, and brushed a lock of hair away from Gail’s eyes. “This morning, early this morning. A boy, six pounds and three ounces. Eighteen and a half inches long.”

She kissed Gail’s forehead and linked their hands.

"After you’ve slept for a couple of hours we’ll go and visit, okay?"

Gail hummed softly in agreement, rubbing her cheek against her girlfriend’s.

"Come lay with me," she asked, her voice sweet and tired, "just until I fall asleep?"

Holly gave a small nod, and scooted back to stand and help the blonde up.

"Hey," Gail said as they were halfway up the stairs to the bedroom, "you didn’t tell me, what did they name the kid?"

~ * ~

Roman Maciej Stewart-Domanski was a beautiful boy. Named after his grandfathers, with his mother’s eyes and a bright shock of red-blonde hair that came straight from his dad, he was perfect.

Her sister looked good, as good as anyone who’d just pushed a six pound human being out of her vagina, but good. And Anton, well, her brother-in-law couldn’t stop smiling. It was pretty cute to watch, the tall and thin accountant bounced around the room the whole time they were there.

Literally.

Bouncing.

They’d gotten to the hospital just as Holly’s parents were leaving, both thrilled at the newest addition to their family tree. Grandpa Roman looked particularly thrilled after meeting his tiny namesake.

Holly’d only held Roman for about fifteen minutes before Gail stole him away. It was pretty adorable, actually. How her girlfriend’s fingers had twitched and clenched to reach out and tickle the sleeping baby’s ten little toes, to tease his tiny palm with her pinky.

For the whole rest of their visit, until he’d woken and started to cry, Roman had been snuggled tight into the crook of Gail’s arm.

It was adorable.

~ * ~

The car ride home had been quiet, Gail contemplating something while Holly navigated the surprisingly busy freeway.

When her girlfriend did speak, it took Holly completely by surprise.

Maybe it shouldn’t have.

But it did.

~ * ~

"Do you want kids, Hol?"

"Hmm," the brunette asked, trying to change lanes in time for their exit.

"Kids, Doctor Stewart, tiny humans. Little burritos that cry and smell but are soft and squishy and grow up to play video games and laser tag with you."

Holly wasn’t sure what to say. This was a conversation that required all of her attention, not what she could spare while trying to maneuver around all the holiday shoppers out tonight.

Thankfully, Gail had understood, and they’d tabled the conversation until they were home. But as soon as they were in the house, the blonde’s hands in her hair and her teeth biting at Holly’s lip, the police officer was whispering the question again.

"Kids, Holly. Thoughts?"

Gail nipped again at her girlfriend’s lips, and ghosted her breath over Holly’s jaw.

"Um," the doctor said, trying to think past the arousal growing in response to Gail’s kisses, "you want to talk about kids? Now?"

The police officer pulled back and looked into her girlfriend’s eyes with a serious expression on her face.

Her voice was quiet, almost shy, when she spoke again.

"Yeah, I do. I mean, seeing your sister today, and Andy being pregnant, I’m just, I’m wondering."

Holly nodded. If she was being honest with herself, if she looked back into the past few months, this really wasn’t that much of a surprise.

"I really haven’t thought about it a lot, honey," she said, guiding them to sit on the couch. "I mean, I like kids, but I don’t know if I want to have kids. I’m really good at being Aunt Holly, you know? I don’t know if I want to be Mom Holly."

She looked over at Gail sitting next to her on their couch.

"What about you, babe," she asked, even though she’s pretty sure she already knew the answer.

Gail was silent for a few moments.

But when she spoke, her voice was strong. Unwavering.

"I didn’t before. Not with anyone else. Not with any of the men I’ve been with. At all. But with you, yes, it’s something I think about. Especially when I look at you with your nieces and nephews. I can see having kids with you, Holly."

She puts her hand up against Holly’s cheek, and looks at her girlfriend with gentle, soft eyes.

"And not now, no, but someday maybe. Someday maybe. When I’m not on the streets and "

Holly looked at her. She could see everything, everything Gail felt for her. It was all there, in her face, in her eyes. In the way Gail’s thumb traced the seam of the doctor’s jeans, up and down her leg, so gentle and so beautiful.

"What if," Holly said as she leaned in to kiss her girlfriend’s cheek, her lips. "What if we started small? A dog, maybe?"

"Hmmm," the blonde responded, thinking. "A dog, Holly?"

"A dog. I don’t think we’re ready for kids, but a dog? We go and pick one out together? I think that would be good for us." Holly took Gail’s hand in hers and raised it to her mouth, kissed her girlfriend’s palm. "I think it would be good."

Gail pulled the brunette into her, and kissed her deeply.

"A dog," she said again, "I think we’d be great dog-parents. Maybe human-parents someday, but until then, babe, I think a dog is a great idea. We can start looking tomorrow."

She smiled and kissed her girlfriend again, letting herself recline into the soft cushions of the couch, bringing Holly down along with her.

~ * ~

The puppy began as a compromise, but Roscoe, their big dumb cuddle-loving retriever, quickly became so much more. He came into their home a tiny ball of fuzz, and grew into a rambunctious, lap-sitting, bed-hogging part of their family.

They never actually get around to having kids, Gail and Holly. But they have dogs. Always. First Roscoe. And then when he was three, and Gail stumbled across an abandoned dog at a crime scene—a handsome foxhound once he was cleaned up—they’d brought Ike into their home.

From then on, there was rarely a morning when one of them didn’t wake up to a cold, canine nose, or a raspy lick from a puppy who was all too certain that it was time for breakfast.

They never have kids, Gail and Holly, though their lives are filled with the children of their families and friends, but they have their dogs. Roscoe and Ike, later Izzy the mostly-mastiff who liked to nap on Gail’s pillow and hide Holly’s shoes and Benji the absolute mutt who still, years after they brought him home, still hasn’t learned not to dig in the garden.

They never have kids, Gail and Holly, but they don’t need them. They’re not missing out on anything. They’re moms to a whole pound’s worth of dogs and they’re happier than they ever thought they could be.

The puppy began as a compromise, but in the end, the puppy turned out to be everything they wanted, everything they dreamed of.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : happy birthday

She wakes in the darkness, just as so many darknesses ago, when she first awoke.

There is something restorative about the world at this time, at this time that seems almost out of time.

Everything still, even the breeze.

Everything quiet, even her thoughts.

There’s nothing to do quiet yet, life is hours off in the light, she’ll be a whole ‘nother person by the time the hour of dressing and readying and leaving arrives.

Right now, right now in the dim and silent room, she’s only herself, stripped down and bare. With nothing between her and the world.

Right now, right now in the cool comfort of an hour that’s not quite night and not quite morning, she can let the world touch her. Can let herself be raw and open.

This is her most honest hour, her most perfect moment.

This is her time.

She has been waiting for this year’s moment to arrive. Waiting for now, for here. Waiting for the marking off of another year, the ending of another story, the passing of another great adventure.

She has been waiting to say goodbye, to close the door on all bad and good of the year behind her. To bury her mistakes. Her nightmares. To catalogue her triumphs, her glories.

To sit in the quiet womb of the dark and make her peace.

But peace, this year, will not come.

This year her heart will not let her forget, and her voice, her true voice, will not let her say goodbye.

This year, as she considers the great quilt of her life, as she traces the lines patches, her eyes catch every missed stitch, her fingers every fault in the fabric.

This year, she knows, she needed to do better.

Sometimes, her heart tells her, going forward means going back.

She sits a long time in the silence, thinking.

Later, when she’s ready to emerge out of the darkness, ready to enter another year, another stage of living, she’ll find the blinking message on her phone.

A “Happy birthday, Gail” from an Earth away.

It isn’t enough.

~ 365 ~

She wakes in the darkness, just as so many darknesses ago, when she first awoke.

The room is dark, the gentle hum of cars in the distance like a heartbeat, slow and steady.

This is her time, her naked moment to consider the world, to be considered by the world.

All is quiet and unmoving, all but the rustle of sheets on the bed, and the warm hand on her arm. A pair of warm brown eyes, shining in the darkness, and a voice heavy with sleep and soft with love.

"Happy birthday, Gail."


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : sunshine

"Now this," Gail said from her spot on the bed, watching as her naked girlfriend dug into their suitcase looking for her bikini, "is a vacation. The three Ss, Hol—sun, sand, and sex."

Holly laughed, but didn’t stop digging.

"You’ll end up whining about the first two, you know," she said as she pulled the dark green bikini out from the bottom of the bag.

Gail sniggered, and smiled as Holly slipped those long, tan legs into the bikini bottoms and pulled them up before coming to sit on the bed in front of the blonde.

"Yeah," Gail acknowledged, "but the third one’ll make up for it." She tied the strings of the bikini top, and then let her fingers linger along the hollows and grooves of Holly’s spine, feeling the way it her girlfriend’s tan, fit body shook with laughter.

"Mmmmhmmm," Holly said, and then stood, tossing Gail’s own suit at the blonde still on the bed. A pale blue one-piece that would protect her pale, pale skin.

Gail changed quickly, not missing the way Holly’s eyes traveled up and down her naked body. Or the way the brunette licked her lips and grinned, thinking back on some private, heated memory.

The blonde just grinned back. Their bungalow was semi-private, and their beach-front as well. She was willing to bet that she could entice her girlfriend into a little hanky-panky in the water—or maybe even on the beach itself—if there was no one else around.

"Alright, doc," Gail said, pulling at her suit until it sat right on her chest, "let’s go."

But Holly didn’t move.

"Not so fast, Officer Peck," she said, a bottle of sunscreen in hand.

Gail sighed, and sat back down, letting the doctor massage the cream into her delicate skin.

"I get to do you next," she said, and Holly nodded even though her skin handled the sun much better than her girlfriend’s.

But where Holly’s application of the medicated cream was clinical, aimed at preventing her girlfriend from getting too burned, from ruining their vacation before it even really started, Gail’s was meant to entice. She traced the gentle curves of Holly’s body, teased over all the parts she knew made the other woman gasp and moan.

By the time she was done, Holly was breathing hard, and her hands clenched tight in the sheets.

And all Gail had done was touch.

_Maybe_ , the blonde thought to herself,  _they could delay the beach for a little bit. Have some indoor fun first._

But then her girlfriend rose on somewhat steady legs and held out her hand.

"Now come on, Peck," she said with a wide and dangerous smile, "let’s get to that sand and sun you were so excited about."

"Oh, don’t pout," Holly said from the door when Gail didn’t follow, "we’ll get to that third S again later. It is our vacation, after all."


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **A 5-Sentence fic.**
> 
> _Prompt_ : Golly and alien.

"You seriously don’t know why I like these movies so much," Holly asked as she brought over the bowl of popcorn and sat down on the couch next to her wife. 

Gail scrunched up her nose and grabbed a handful; “No, is watching them once a year a requirement in order to keep your License to Nerd up-to-date,” she asked with a scowl. But the brunette ignored her, tucking her feet under the big, warm, blanket and pressing play as she tilted her head and lay it upon Gail’s shoulder. 

"Think about it, Detective," she said playfully, "tough, strong, officer with killer attitude and a sexy short hairdo…" 

To her credit, it only took Gail a minute to catch on; “Ohhhhhh,” she said as her wife laughed and the trailers began.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **A 5-Sentence fic.**
> 
> _Prompt_ : Golly and soap

There was a pile of sopping clothes in the corner of the room, a pair of discarded scissors forgotten on the stool next to the tub, and no sound but the wet exchange of lips and tongues over the steadily running water. Behind the curtain, they were pressed up against each other—naked, bare—as their hands danced between over their one body. Gail tilted her head back as Holly lowered her own, attached her lips to the warm skin of the shorter woman’s neck, making the hallow hollow of it her home. With a gasp, she dropped the soap, the hard echo of it unnoticed as Holly did holy things with her tongue, licking at her pulse and loving at her skin. The water ran cold, then hot, then cold again; they banked their fire against the chill and loved on.


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **A 5-Sentence fic.Prompt: Golly and regret.**

"Do you regret it," Holly asked one night as they watched the sun set over the bay.

Gail didn’t answer for a long time, not until the sky was a violent blue and purple, and the faintest hint of stars twinkled and danced above them.

"I regret a great many things," she said quietly into the sacred silence of the night, "but this, you?"

The blonde put the empty wineglass to the side and lay back upon the blanket, sighing as Holly’s head made a pillow of her outstretched arm.

"Never."


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **A 5-Sentence fic.**
> 
> _Prompt_ : Golly and sweater.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Gail shouted, storming down the hallway and slamming the door to her room as Holly struggled not to laugh.

Chris looked around, confused.

“I don’t get it, what’s up with her,” he asked.

Dov shook his head and sighed, “Dude, you’re wearing her sweater.”

It was useless, Holly lost it; looked like she’d have to find a ring to go along with that brand new spare key sitting in pocket sooner rather than later.


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : Describe what the first five pictures in Gail's Instagram would be. And the first five in Holly's?
> 
> Story-telling in a different way.

_**Gail’s instagram**_ :

  * a donut
  * Holly’s butt as she bends over to pick something up
  * Drunk-Dov asleep at their booth at the Penny
  * Nick and Gerald on the ground after slipping on some ice (#assholes)
  * a half-naked old lady flipping someone off 



**_Holly’s instagram_** : 

  * sunset over the lake at the Peck cabin
  * Gail scowling and wearing Canucks’ jersey while holding a bottle of beer with the rink behind them
  * a close-up of the numbers on the mailbox of their house on closing day (#homeowners #fixerupper #thepecks)
  * a birthday cake with 28 candles on it
  * Gail, her face half-hidden by the pillow, asleep next to her in bed 




	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : judge

Holly shifted nervously in her seat, trying not to let herself wonder why she’d been summoned to the judge’s chambers after the reading of the verdict; she thought her testimony had been clear and concise, and the science was absolutely impeccable, she was sure of it. Holly’d heard things about this judge, heard some of the lawyers bitching about her and the way she’d sometimes almost play around with them; a story frequently heard around the water-cooler at the morgue was of how she’d once cited a lawyer for wearing a ridiculous-colored suit, claiming that it was distracting and an offense to the profession. When the skinny bailiff had brought her the note, a half-sheet of paper folded into a neat square, she hadn’t known what to expect—certainly not the “Please see me in chambers” written in a bold but messy script. 

She’d been waiting for about ten minutes when she heard the heavy door open; turning in her seat she watched as Judge Peck walked in, shrugging out of her black robes with a long-suffering sigh before throwing herself into the leather chair behind the dark mahogany wood of her desk.

“So,” the blonde-haired and blue-eyed woman said, no less imposing without her official garb, “I could hear your stomach growling from the front of the courtroom, thought maybe you’d like to have lunch.”


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : buzz

Her heart stopped when she saw Oliver standing in the door to her office; she’s been around law enforcement long enough now, she knows what an unexpected visit from your wife’s partner means. But his face confused her, and his voice, always gentle, wasn’t breaking under the weight of his words as he said her name calmly and tried to cut through the ice in her veins.

“… an accident at a scene,” she heard as the white buzz of fear faded back into the darkness …,” and she can see a flash of Gail’s blonde hair behind him, “… just going to be useless for the rest of the day, and should probably have some sort of adult supervision.”  Holly’d ask him to repeat what he said, but the moment she saw, the moment her wife stepped into her arms and she could smell the blonde, she understood; “A contact high,” she says and sees the unusually dark eyes, pupils wide and glassy,” and he nods back at her, happy, it seems, to be free of his charge. 

 “Good luck,” Oliver says, “she made me stop for burgers and then again for a guy she saw selling cotton candy on the side of the street,” and Holly laughs as she tries to remember whether or not there’s a spare bag of cheese puffs in her drawer.


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : 5 sentences about Officer Lunchbox and a desert island.

**You’re an Island (I’m Just a Little Boat)**

“Wait,” Gail said from where she was sitting on Holly’s lap, lazily tracing patterns over her girlfriend’s naked belly, “if you were trapped on a desert island, all you’d bring is cheese puffs, tequila, matches, and sunscreen?”  She shifted from where she sat straddling Holly’s hips, rose until she hovered over the brunette, and then slowly lowered herself down onto the warm body beneath her, propping herself up with her elbows to see herself reflected in Holly’s wide, dark pupils.

“You get five items, Nerd,” she said, bringing her head down to ghost a kiss over Holly’s lips, “and you prefer whiskey.”

Holly just smiled, her warm hands sneaking up to rest over the gentle curves of Gail’s ass and laughing when the smaller woman arched into her touch.

“You’re my fifth, Gail,” she whispered, the last of her lover’s name trailing off into a desperate kiss from the other woman, “the tequila and cheese puffs are just there to convince you to come with.”


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : better kisser

**Go On and Kiss the Girl**

“So, let me get this straight,” Andy began, her eyes narrow as she looked at the blonde officer sitting across the table, “you’ve kissed Chris, and Dov, and Nick.”

Gail nodded with each new name, and then rose her hand to call for another beer. She didn’t see why she should bother denying it, it was true, after all. 

“And now Chloe too,” Andy’s voice rose in disbelief, “have you kissed Traci as well–am I the only person from our rookie class that you haven’t kissed, Gail?”

“First of all,” Gail pointed out, “Price and I were undercover, it doesn’t count. Second, I have not kissed Traci–my brother does enough of that already. And third, McNally,” she smirked, “I’ll  _never_  kiss you. I’d sooner kiss Gerald.”

Nick snorted, spraying beer out of his nose onto the table.

“Oh, come on,” Andy said plaintively, “you can’t kiss everyone else and leave me out. What if I’m the best one of the whole group? What if you’re missing out on the chance of a lifetime, knowing what it feels like to experience a kiss from the best.”

It took Gail a good minute and a half before she could respond, before she stopped choking on the beer she’d been trying to drink and could draw air into her lungs again.

“McNally, I gotta tell you, on the list of people I’ve kissed at this table, you’d probably fall somewhere around fifth. Maybe sixth if Dov’s showered recently,” the blonde shot back as she wiped the tears out of her eyes. 

The brunette pouted while Dov threw a pretzel across the table. Chloe just bounced in her seat. 

“Where would I fall, Gail,” she asked, “am I first?”  She turned to her boyfriend, “I bet I’m first,” and he laughed and kissed her cheek.

Gail pretended to consider the question for a moment.

“Third,” she said, “definitely third. Fewer teeth than Nick and you get points for that thing you did with your tongue at the end.”

Chloe pumped her fist into the air, almost spilling her beer, as Dov turned back to his girlfriend to ask about the tongue thing.

“Okay,” Andy replied, “so Chris and Nick are what, first and second?”

The blonde took another swig of her beer, and took a long, appraising look at the men in question. 

“Nope, a tie for fourth,” she answered with a twinkle in her eye and a nod to the woman she’d just seen walk in the door.

Now everyone at the table looked confused. 

“Okay,” asked Chris, “but then who’s one and two?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Gail responded as she stood to let her girlfriend sit, and then took her place on Holly’s lap, “Holly.”


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _5 Sentence Prompt_ : kid in a candy store

“You know, when you said ‘Let’s go to the States for our honeymoon,’” Gail pouted, “I thought you meant New York or San Diego or some place like that. Not a body farm in Texas.”

Her brand new wife had the decency to look sheepish, sending an embarrassed smile over in Gail’s direction.

And Gail’s annoyance pretty much melted away at the sight. Holly was happy, like a kid let loose in a goddamned candy store, and who was she to grump about that?


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Prompt_ : family

“Have you ever thought about it, about looking up your birth parents,” you ask, watching as Holly expertly dices an onion and tosses it into the hot wok on the stove.

And maybe you should have waited, maybe until she put the knife down or maybe later, when you were laying together in bed in the dark. Like last night when she told you, about being in the system, about foster care, about being adopted when she was six by the Stewarts.

She pauses what she’s doing, and you can see the way her shoulders shift, the way her breath catches in her chest as your question sinks in.

It takes a moment before she’s ready to answer, and you can see your partner patiently gathering her thoughts, figuring out what she wants to say and how she wants to say it, all playing out over the gentle, strong muscles of your lover’s back.

When she’s ready, Holly takes a deep breath and turns to face you.

“Yes,” she says, her eyes large and soft and calm, “here and there, my more rebellious teenage years, once or twice after I came out. But I never followed through. My biological parents are just genes–my parents are love and hugs, bandaged knees and bedtime stories, baseball games and driving lessons and an entire wall of newspaper clippings from the times I was mentioned in the paper. I don’t need to find the people who conceived me, I’ve got my parents and you and our friends.”

“And that,” Holly said, hooking her fingers into your belt loops and pulling you close, “is family enough for me.”

You nod.

Sometimes family is who you’re born into.

Sometimes family is who you pick up along the way.


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _First Line Prompt_ : "you put the ring WHERE?!?"

**Oh, Precious Things**

"You put the ring where?"

Steve actually looked like he might wet himself at the sight of his sister stalking over to him, ice blue eyes cutting into him from across the room.

“Um, Gail, hey, Traci wasn’t supposed to tell you anything,” he said, instinctively crossing his legs as the memory of many a childhood tussle came flooding back to him; she always did have great aim.

“Oh, really, Steven,” she said as she stood before him, “your wife wasn’t supposed to tell me that your ignoramus of a dog ate my wedding rings? The rings you were supposed to keep safe for me until the wedding, that little tidbit wasn’t supposed to make it to me?”

If he weren’t so concerned for the next generation of Pecks, Steve might have laughed at his little sister, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips and her pale complexion flushed with anger. She was practically growling.

But Steve Peck was no dummy, and so he swallowed back even the tiniest of laughs.

Instead, he tried to reason with her.

“Look, Merle ate your rings, yes, but I took him to the vet and she said they’ll pass in a day or two. Plenty of time before the wedding–enough time to get them cleaned professionally, even.”

He could tell that she hadn’t even considered that, the retrieval, when her eyes bulged and her hands curled into tight fists.

When Gail finally spoke, it was in a forced, angry whisper.

“Cleaned, Steven,” she said, and it was eerie how much she reminded him of their mother in that moment, something he could never tell her, “no. You’re buying us new rings. I’m not giving Holly a wedding ring that’s intimately familiar with your dog’s intestines.”

He started to protest, but thought better of it when he saw her trigger finger twitch.

“Oh, and Steve,” Gail said as she turned to leave, “I’m demoting you to usher. At least if Ollie is my best man he won’t let his kids eat the goddamn rings.”

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimers apply. 
> 
> Title from "One Heart Missing" by Grace Potter and the Nocturnals.


End file.
